Femslash Friday
by Raven Sinead
Summary: A gift back to the people who make it a joy to write the stories that I do, this is an ongoing fic that I hope to fill with one-shots of your prompts. If there's a particular scene you've ever wanted me to write, I would absolutely love to try my hand at it. Hope you enjoy!
1. Introduction to Femslash Friday

**Introduction**

So, this idea came about when Drummerchick7 and I were chatting, and she shared an article with me that mentioned an event known as "Femslash Friday". The name struck me and thus, this idea was born. What I want to do is have a chance to give back to the wonderful readers who have taken the time to read the stories that I post. So, hopefully, this will work as planned, and the plan is as follows:

1\. Prompts for Femslash Friday can be sent by PM, via review, or on my facebook page (it's linked on my profile).

2\. The prompt **does not** have to require smut. It can be fluff, humorous, romance-candy or any other genre you might like. The only requirement is that it's ladies loving ladies. (I'm looking to expand my horizons and kick-start my creativity, while also working on my favorite subject matter)

3\. You can prompt any fandom you wish, not just the ones I primarily write in. However, if I'm not familiar with the fandom you request, I probably will not feel confident enough to write your prompt.

4\. To each their own, but I **will not** write incest, rape, or any non-consensual scenes, so if this is what you have in mind, I'm sorry, but I won't go there.

5\. Femslash Friday prompts will be posted on, you guessed it, a Friday. I am going to start small and aim for one a month, but if my muse decides that she doesn't want to be an utter bitch, then I might post one or two more on Fridays throughout the month.

I really hope you're as excited about this as I am, and I hope you enjoy the first installment in the next chapter.

Bright Blessings!

~Raven Sinead


	2. The Words that Matter

**Disclaimer:** **I own nothing. All characters and locations belong to BioWare**

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _The first "Femslash Friday" fic comes from a prompt given to me by Bert-Wrighty. She gave me plenty of room to flex my imagination, because her prompt reads: "The first time Leliana and the Warden of your choice say 'I love you'." I chose to use Leliana and Meridian Tabris from my fic "But in My Soul I Sing." In any case, I hope you all enjoy._

 _In addition, a huge thanks to my friend and kickass author herself, Drummerchick7, for taking on the epic responsibility of betaing these mini-fics. You are freaking amazing._

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~R.S._

* * *

 **The Words that Matter**

 **Meridian**

She burns. Her skin is fire beneath my hands, flushed, tinted with sweat that gleams in the firelight like stars. I have been warned. I have been warned that to touch her is to place my hand into the fire. I have been warned that such a flame will consume me in such a way that I will breathe my last and fall, charred skin and ashen bone, before I even realize I am dead.

What the one who warns me can never realize is that I have stood in the fires before. I have seen flesh and blood and bone laid upon the altar and sacrificed to the powerful with golden hands, hands that allow blood to slip off of the precious metal and leave no stain. This day I cleaved two golden hands from such a woman, a human tyrant, vicious despot, blackened heart. I removed the golden hands and now…and now she burns.

There is fire in her blood and it consumes. It steals the flush of health from her cheeks and replaces it with the crimson of one who walks through flames. Her lips part and the skin is dry and cracked like the bed of a barren river. The whispers that steam from her parted lips are scarified words of agony and they ripple over her lips and run up her cheeks like lightning streaking and scorching her face. I am nothing here to here.

There is no dark dream in the night that I can assassinate. There is no living being whose throat I can take between my hands and caress until the pattern of my fingers becomes tattooed upon their skin and they beg forgiveness before breathing their last. There is no enemy here, nothing that I can fight. Not any longer.

I fought her demon. With a rushing step I wound my arms about the woman she had loved, the demon desire, the Marjolaine. I embraced my love's master and kissed her, letting the curved blades in my hand substitute for my lips as I slid them up into her back, puncturing lung and piercing heart. And my love looked upon me with horror in her eyes for she saw the summation of my love in the bloodied blades and the body that slid down mine, falling to its final rest.

 _You are safe now_ , I whispered but my night-song sky-eyes music mistress did not hear me.

She faded into grief like the sun sinks beneath the horizon and shut me out on the razor edge of biting words. She shrugged off every touch and ignored every word and the dreams I had woven, my castles built in the clouds crumbled stone by stone, falling like a hail of pebbles each one screaming of failure and falsehood.

She had danced with me and brought into my broken life a joy. She became my first bird of dawn, the sound I listened for, the music that guided me home even as darkness itself gnawed at my blood. Her hands placed weapons inside mine and she taught me defense and sleight of hand and we began to laugh like the wind through the grasses. How was I to know then that the moonlight in her eyes was pain? How was I to know that she would not thank for me for slaying her dragon?

The tent flap opens and Wynne enters. Her body is stooped and her eyes are tired and concerned and I bite my lip. She is the one who warns, the one whose brows furrow when she sees my fingers laced with Leliana's fingers, calluses and cuts and lives intertwined no matter what she wants to believe. I can give her strength. I can give her the will to fight, I know I can and I will for my life is incomplete without…without my savior slaver perfect pain.

The mage kneels down and rests her hand on Leliana's forehead, the place where the fever burns. Her lips and eyebrows frown but the blue light that streams from her fingers cannot make this go away, cannot break the heat that slithers through Leliana's veins, that is struggling to burn her alive and scorch out the dark that wishes to claim her. This is not a wound that keeps her locked in sleep and nightmares. This is sickness and magic has no power here.

"How is she?" I ask and my words sound like leaves cracking under the foot of a hunter in autumn.

Wynne shakes her head. "She is sleeping at long last." the statement sounds hopeful and I want to allow that hope, but I know when her sky eyes open Leliana will look at me and see the hands that ripped off her dragon's wings. "But the fever is still burning. I don't understand, Meridian. Why did she let the wound fester?"

"It was Marjolaine's last gift." I murmur and Wynne's eyes threaten to flay me. "Leliana loved her." I shrug my shoulders. "I did not know she had been cut and she…she withdrew from me. She withdrew from us all."

The mage nods, accepting my words and knowing them for truth. After the death of Marjolaine the music left the fireside. The woman I loved with hair the color of flames, the woman who made my heart a conflagration of poetry and purpose faded into the dark and I knew it not but she did not treat the wound from her once-lover's blade. She let the blood on her skin speak to her and felt the infection burn as if trying to remember the torture that brought her to the dog-lord's land. Trying to remember that love could betray.

I cannot tell Wynne what I believe. That I believe Leliana kept the wound open and burning and festering in attempt to see her way clear. Because I saw it in her sky eyes when I slew the dragon Marjolaine. They remembered all the good things, sweet moments, loving words whispered in the dark, golden hands unstained by blood capturing her breasts and lips made of honeysuckle and gardenia-scented breath whispering lewd seductions in her ear while claiming my love from her center and chaining her with pleasure.

Leliana kept the wound in hopes to remember the pain caused by the dragon Marjolaine. The fortnight spent in torment, learning of the cruelties of man. I know too well the cruelties of men, and the women whose naked bodies they stretch out on their altar and worship at the shrine of themselves with the thrust of a fleshy dagger into the heart and soul of their victim. I know that Leliana had been stretched out upon these altars. I know that she has suffered. I also know that love possesses more strength than any pain.

Leliana loved the dragon Marjolaine. Only pain ever-present will help her remember that I am guilty of no crime but loving her and saving her. But she is a creature of shadow and song. The light does not shine for her as it does for the rest of us. She struggles to push through the dank cobwebs of the way she has been trained to see the world.

She burns, and it is not to destroy the infection ravaging her body, but tormenting her mind is well. Her body is both the forge and the metal to be tempered, struck, beaten, and folded into a masterwork of perfection. Then, only then, will she look into my eyes and tell me her truth. Then, only then, she will save me or slay me. I am prepared for both, for I know what it is to love and lose.

"Well, in spite of her ridiculousness, I believe that she will recover." Wynne makes her assessment and my heart is eased. "The willowbark is keeping her temperature as controlled as possible, but I do believe her fever will be broken by the morn. From then on it is simple wound care." the mage sighs. "This all could have been avoided, Meridian." she informs me of knowledge I already possess.

"We must all come to understanding in our own way." I defend the woman I love. "If Leliana required pain, she required pain."

Wynne narrows her eyes at me. "You truly do love her, do you not?"

I nod. "Leliana is hearth and home to me, but the thorns of past love are still wound around her heart. If this fever burns those thorns, then perhaps her love will be mine. But if the thorns remain, then she belongs to the love that killed her spirit. Some spirits do not heal." I said, thinking of my cousin Shianni, wondering if she is well, if her spirit will heal from the golden-handed man who destroyed her.

"You are right, at that." Wynne speaks as she bathes Leliana's fevered brow with cool water. "I have drawn the first watch. I trust you will call me if there is any change?"

"Yes." I agree and the senior enchanter leaves me and my love alone again.

Her fiery lashes are wet with tears, for in her slumber, in her fever, she is bleeding her soul clean of the infection that is a love that uses, mistreats, and abuses. I am tempted, tempted to kiss away her tears, to taste the salt of her grief and nightmares against my lips. I cannot. She has not given me the words that matter. The words that once she gave to the dragon Marjolaine. Instead I brush the tears from her lashes with my thumb, hoping that, somewhere in her fever dream she can sense my kindness and realize that she wants to return.

"Some day I pray my hearth will be your home." I whisper

I lie down beside her, not too close. I rest on my back and gaze at the top of the tent, listening to the rasp of her breathing. I do not pray to the shemlen's god, nor to the Creators believed in by my Dalish brethren. Instead, I pray to the spirit of love that must exist in the world. The gods have deserted us, but love remains. Love still seeks out a heart to share with another heart and binds a soul into another soul. It is the avarice and greed of mortals that damns love…that crafts the sort of love that enslaved Leliana.

Still, my lover takes up her lute and plays to the night, to the god she believes in. From her battered heart she seeks a song of praise and a song of love and on occasion she turns her sky eyes to mine and I melt beneath her gaze. I feel as though my skin is the clear water that flows through the Dales, as if she can see the bones that comprise my frame and the red blood coursing through the river of my veins. As if she can see that my heart beats in quarter notes, sounding out the syllables of her name.

I meditate until I surrender to sleep and sweetly dream, for I am lying next to Leliana. I cannot even hear the archdemon screaming, for I think of her voice when she sings to the moon. She is all that I dream and I know I will wake alongside her, for the sun always rises.

And the sun does rise with the whisper of my name. I open my eyes and roll to my side, wrapped at once in the pools of her sky eyes. Her cheeks are pale but I am heartened for the fever-flush is gone. She reaches out her hand and it is shaking when she rests it against my cheek. I hold my breath, waiting for the executioner's axe poised on the tip of her tongue to destroy me.

"Meridian." her voice is rough from her illness. "Meridian, I dreamed of you. I dreamed of chains and blood-red skies. I dreamed Marjolaine a dragon, with me held in her claws. The talons were poison and she took joy in polishing them with my blood. I felt myself cut open and she used me as an inkwell, dipping a brush into my chest and coating her talons with my very life."

I wait and I listen, for I know the love of dragons. It decimates, destroys, but also addicts. It draws you in and breaks you and you do not even know that you are in pieces. I wait for my world to end.

"Then you were there." she speaks. "You took the dragon's brush and shattered its talons. Then you bared your own heart and dipped the brush within it. You brushed the blood of your own heart across my open chest and the skin healed." her pale, dexterous hand tangles in my hair. "I was a fool to avoid you, to believe that I still loved her and that you angered me when you killed her. Always, you have given me your heart and I have not allowed it to heal me."

I keep my eyes open and luxuriate in the feeling of her fingers trailing through my hair. This is the dream and I wait for it to shatter. I wait still for it is easier to anticipate the breaking and, should the wholeness come, be beyond satisfied, beyond joyful.

"I want to heal, Meridian." she breathes and my world completes. "I want to heal for now I realize that chains do not comprise affection. I want…no. You have given me all I need. I do not merely _want_ to love you. I _do_ love you, Meridian Tabris."

There it stands, a beacon of light inside of my mind and heart, illuminating the world. I can sing once more the song in my heart and it will not falter. There is a chain known as love, but there are no manacles, no locks. It is two hands lifting the shackles and choosing to let the iron band enclose their wrists. I reach out and rest my hand against my Leliana's cheek, binding us.

My lips begin the journey to her lips and before the stars in their heavens collide, I whisper the words that matter.

"I love you too."


	3. Sometimes Tomorrow Doesn't Come

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hello all! This month's (I really am trying to do more than once a month, but July decided to be a bitch) prompt is coming from my dear friend and occasional beta, Drummerchick7. I'm very excited about it because she requested a fic about two original characters from my Dragon Age series, Kestrel Ariyah and Rylie Camerloch. Her prompt reads as follows: "I want Rylie and Kestrel's first time. You mentioned that it was on a grassy hill under the stars in your fic. I want that." So, without further ado, here goes nothing, and I hope you enjoy!_

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven Sinead_

* * *

 **Sometimes Tomorrow Doesn't Come**

 **Kestrel**

"You do realize we aren't supposed to do this?" Rylie asked, the sparkle in her obsidian eyes telling me that the question was asked in jest.

It felt right to see her smiling again; to see that light in her eyes once more. Not so long ago, those night-sky eyes had threatened to go out forever. Not so long ago, those night-sky eyes had been filled with pain and those precious, smiling lips had been chapped and bleeding, begging me to make it stop. I never wanted to see her in that much pain again.

"Let me see…" I paused and pressed a finger against my lips in false contemplation. "…I've picked four locks, dodged five sentries, lied to one elderly woman and paid off two informants. I had no idea this was forbidden."

Rylie smirked. "Imagine this!" she exclaimed in a whisper. "Kestrel Ariyah _does_ have a sense of humor!"

"As does the Maker." I quipped, low, enjoying myself entirely too much. "He let you be born with that face, after all."

Rylie's eyes snapped and sparkled with mischievous glee. "You wound me!" she declared, pressing her hand against her heart with dramatic flair.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Someone had to tell you the truth."

Her lower lip descended in a perfect, kissable pout that changed to one of her infamous lightning grins. "It would be you, then." she punched my arm with no measurable force. "Everyone else is besotted with me."

I wanted to continue our playful banter, but Rylie's last statement left me all but speechless. She spoke in jest, but her words were the absolute truth. Men and women stopped in the streets when Rylie Camerloch passed them by. When she spoke to another, no matter the irascibility with which they began the conversation, they departed her presence with a smile. There were a hundred-thousand reasons to love Rylie Camerloch. There were no reasons to love me.

 _Thief_ , the standard insulting thoughts whispered through my mind. _Liar._ I waited for the third and chief of the derogatory trifecta. _Apostate._

I shook my head clear of those thoughts and realized that Rylie was staring at me, waiting for a reply.

"Yes." I answered her at last. "Yes, they are."

"Oh, seal your lips you ignominious tart." Rylie mock-glared at me. "You're one of the only people I can speak with who doesn't always stare at my tits or my arse."

" _That_ is where you are wrong." I corrected her. "You just have yet to find me looking."

Apparently there was a note in my voice, some indicator that I was unconscious of, because Rylie's features lost their mirth and adopted a serious expression that I did not like. It did not become her ever-cheerful face. I wanted her smile back. I wanted to place it there.

"What are we doing, Kes?" her brogue sounded soft and nervous, not at all like her normal confidence. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere that is not the barracks or the city streets." I supplied. "Somewhere in this damn city that you can hear yourself think."

Rylie seemed shocked. "There _is_ such a place in Val Royeaux?" she wondered.

"So I've been told." I smiled, hoping that I had not revealed too much.

I wanted to surprise her. I wanted this night to be…perfect. Set apart.

 _Holy._

I wanted to give her my hand, to feel her take it, for I remembered the bliss of her skin against mine. But I did not. Since the ill-fated ship had returned to Val Royeaux, Rylie, once so free with touch and embrace, had withdrawn into herself. I could but imagine that the nightmare voyage had changed her in some way. I knew that it had changed me.

Even though I knew how trite it sounded, I had loved Rylie Camerloch from the moment I saw her. Fierce, valiant, and kind, she had, without saying a word, stormed into my heart and made a home for herself. Every moment, every breath, I knew and loved her more and more. But, since our return from Amaranthine, her eyes were darker and, in the barracks, she slept restlessly, tossing, turning, and murmuring in slumber.

I had been with her with the abomination struck her down. I'd witnessed the pain in her eyes overridden by fear. She had seen something in the few moments before Leliana, a hero in the Fifth Blight, had destroyed the abomination. On a ship filled with templars and seekers, an Orlesian bard, once a wanted criminal, had been the one to cut down the enemy threatening us. I had a suspicion that, one day, I would pay Leliana Cousland back for the lives she had saved. When that day came, I would do so with a happy heart. But Leliana had not just saved our lives. She had shown me something that I knew I wanted. A love as timeless and as pure and as strong as the love the bard shared with her wife. I did not just want _that_ manner of love, however.

I wanted _that_ manner of love with Rylie Camerloch…a true templar. There were those who had attempted the forbidden, an intimate connection between mage and templar. Those stories never ended well. But I did not care. I would not let those tales dissuade me. I would try, because if I did not, it would break and betray my own heart. This is why I had gone to the one woman who would be sympathetic to my cause.

* * *

 _Lieutenant Kathyra takes me aside when we dock, studying me as I watch Rylie descend the gangplank. I am almost shaking, so powerful is my need to help the ever-vibrant woman who is still so frail. The Seeker physician, too, is pallid and worn. The journey had nearly taken both of their lives, and I know that both of them will suffer from wounds both physical and unseen. I can do nothing to help Seeker Kathyra, as rank and order divide us. But I can help Rylie…if only I knew how._

 _"Hold her," Kathyra speaks, reading my mind in the eerie way that she and Leliana alone can…perhaps it is that the both of them know so very much about the vagaries of love. "Hold her when the nightmares come, and they will. Perhaps not this night, or in the next week, but soon the exhaustion of her ordeal will begin to fade, and she will dream and she will awaken in very real pain. When that happens, hold her and say nothing. When she asks you to speak, do not attempt to find ways to mend her trials; do not attempt to spirit away her pain and fear. She must struggle with those emotions in order to grow, and she will not move beyond them if you remain before her, dragging her, or behind her, pushing her. Stand beside her, walk with her, and love her."_

 _"I am more than willing to do so for her." I reply, biting my lip as Rylie pauses on the gangplank, her knees bent, her arms crossed over her stomach, her chestnut ringlets hanging in front of her face._

 _She has been having trouble breathing since the attack. I need to get to her. I need to make certain that she can breathe and make the walk back to our barracks near the White Spire. Kathyra rests her hands on my shoulder._

 _"Do not run." she cautions. "Do not rush to aid, do not hover. Otherwise you will aid Rylie in becoming an emotional invalid. She will lean on you_ _ **when**_ _she needs support. Trust me on this. Trust me on this, for there will be a day when Rylie will come to you. She will have tears in her eyes. She will be trembling. And she will beg you to take her away from the city, because the walls will have begun to close in on her. When she does," Kathyra turns and directs me towards a cove, a cove in which countless ships have weighed anchor through the history of Thedas, "leave the city at the gate near this cove. You will find a single tree standing on a hill. The cove will be below you, the moon will kiss you, and if you confess your love beneath those branches, then your love will be answered."_

 _"You speak as if from experience." I murmur._

 _"I was not always lonely, Kestrel." Kathyra replies, her voice kind and filled with beauteous compassion. "And my eyes did not always hold this much sorrow. Those, however, are stories from and for another time. Promise me that, when the moment of crisis emerges for Rylie, you will take her there."_

 _"I swear it."_

* * *

We moved through the streets of the city, silent now as we walked the more dangerous streets. Soon, we would reach the gate Kathyra had directed me toward. Soon, I would speak the words that had burned in my heart hotter and fiercer than the fire I could hold in my hands. Because Kathyra had spoken true. Not a candlemark before, the softest of knocks had sounded on my door. When I opened it, I saw Rylie, tears in her eyes, streaking down her face, and when I folded her into my embrace she was trembling.

I saw the gate up ahead and my heart began tripping in my chest, thrumming against my ribs until I could not hear my own footsteps, so loud was the pounding of blood through my body. No guard stood sentry, and I thanked the Maker that he had given this time, this moment, to us. Still silent, we slipped through the gate and outside of the city. Judging by the change in Rylie's countenance, she felt the same as I had. Lighter. Clearer. As though some monumental weight had been lifted from our shoulders. My mother had always claimed that Val Royeaux, not Kirkwall, should be called the City of Chains. At long last, I understood that claim.

"I feel like someone just took boulders off my back." Rylie breathed, her lips parting as she gazed out on the beauty that neither of us had ever before seen.

If one traveled to Val Royeaux, they did not come here for the wide, open spaces of Ferelden, or the deep forestation of the Dales, or the stretching sands of the Hissing Wastes. One came to Val Royeaux to walk along the cobblestone streets, move through the shops that sold a single garment for a laborer's life earnings. Before, I had not seen and felt how truly cloying the city was, but now that I stood here, on this hill, overlooking the lapping waves of the Waking Sea, it dawned on me.

Rylie moved past me, her lips still parted, awe sparking in her obsidian eyes. I stood in front of the gate for a moment, completely content just to watch her move. She mesmerized me, every one of her steps appearing as a delicate dance. Still, I could see the heavy weight of grief in her shoulders, hands that still trembled, and a posture that did not look like the confident woman I had known not a month ago. My own hands ached, wishing that I had any sort of competence with the magic that was my curse. I wanted to ease Rylie's suffering, but I did not know how. All of the power I had in my blood, all of the power that I had gained from templar training, and all that I could do was hope that fresh air on a verdant hill overlooking the sea would help restore some part of the woman that I loved. The woman that I wanted to love me, above all else.

Quiet on my feet, I walked to her. She stood under the single tree Kathyra had told me of, her eyes looking out towards the sea. I wanted to be able to read her thoughts. I wanted to walk behind her, lace my arms around her and move her rich, luxurious hair aside so that I might lay my lips against her neck. Instead I merely stood beside her and followed her eyes, trying to do as Kathyra counseled. To simply be.

"I miss Starkhaven." Rylie spoke after a long moment of silence, her brogue soft and lyrical. "I never thought I would. I left seeking adventure, to make my own way. I never thought it would end like this." she leaned against the tree and my gut twisted, wondering where the fatalism in her voice had come from.

"What's ending, Rylie?" I asked her, tormented by the single tear that whispered down her cheek in the glowing moonlight.

"The world as I knew it." she answered. "I've been brave all my life, and faithful too. I attended the Chantry services, even paused in the street to hear the Chant of Light, believed in what all the revered mothers said about the power of the Maker. But Starkhaven…" she trailed off and I watched the muscle in her jaw leaping as she clenched and relaxed her teeth. "…Starkhaven hates mages. It's not so bad as Kirkwall, from what I've heard, but most of the maleficar that escape Kirkwall try to find refuge in Starkhaven. It has been…problematic."

My own throat tightened. Did she hate mages? Did she remember the terrible moment when I could not get her bleeding to stop, and was forced to use my magic to cauterize her wound? If she did remember that, did she also recall that I had wept as I burned her; that I had begged her to forgive me?

"Do you hate mages, Rylie?" I asked her, trying to prepare my heart for her honest answer, a truth that would strangle my heart and bury me alive beneath it.

"I did." Rylie nodded, and I prayed for the past tense of her statement to _mean_ something. "But at that time, I did not know one to hate them." a shiver coursed through her body. "That scares me, Kes. I don't like to think that I'm capable of hatred without at least evidence."

"Was that ship not evidence enough?" I wondered, my teeth on edge, my heart on a precipice, my _everything_ suspended, waiting for the executioner's blow.

 _Please let me love you,_ my heart fluttered within my chest, straining at my ribs like a starving prisoner reaching through the bars at the scent of food. _Please open your heart, Rylie. I have so much that I want to give you, if only you will allow it. Please, sweet girl. I will beg. I am not above begging._

"Before…" she shuddered again, leaning against the tree for support, not me, "…before I was struck down, I thought so. But then…" she turned towards me, "…then a mage saved my life and…and a mage helped me heal and cared for me and gave me water and fed me and made certain that, when I was in great pain and afraid, that I was not alone."

Words escaped me. I stood before her, stricken mute. So she had been conscious enough to know and understand. My secret had been revealed; she knew what I was but…but she must have kept her silence. If she had told any other, I would have been clapped in irons and executed for the crime of infiltrating the templar order. Even being made tranquil would be too merciful a punishment in light of the deeds that I had done.

"Rylie," I gathered the courage to ask a question, the courage to speak, "why did you come to me tonight? Why did you risk this?"

Her lips trembled, so soft, supple, and delicate that I wanted to wrap them in kisses. "Because…because I am in great pain, and I am afraid."

"Afraid of what?" I asked, fighting every instinct within me that _screamed_ to take her in my arms and erase her fears with my lips and tongue and hands.

"Afraid that you'll be found out." she murmured, her delicate brogue subdued. "Afraid that you'll be taken away from me and that you'll be punished for doing…for doing nothing but being who you are and taking the steps you needed to take to save your life. We're still being investigated, Kes." her night-sky eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, obsidian and pure. "If anyone suspects then…then you'll be gone, and I'll be here with nothing and no one and I can't…I can't live my life alone." She turned her eyes away and did not move them.

"Rylie," emotion forced my voice to drop an octave, making her name from my voice sound as deep and resonant as the ocean. "Rylie, look at me."

"I can't." her bare whisper lay like a knife against my skin. "What if you're taken away, Kestrel? I can't…I can't abide what many of the Circles do to mages. I cannot bear the thought of your eyes being void and distant, cannot fathom emotion lacking in your voice, but all of these are fears of what might happen if we were to be…if we were to be more than what we are."

My heart thundered in my chest, the victorious shout after sky-crackle lightning. "More than what we are?" I strained to temper the abject _hope_ in my words. "Is that…"

"It's not like it could be, Kes." Rylie's entire posture changed; her arms crossed over her chest, she pushed off of the tree, squared her shoulders, and glared at me as though daring me to strike her. "It's not like…this was a mistake."

I was so stunned that I could not move as she pushed past me and moved away from the tree and the cove and the grasses. She walked towards the gate, to go back into the city that would burden her when she had come so close…so close.

"I'm not a mistake." I called out to her and she stopped, turning and looking at me. I wanted to tremble until I fell apart. I wanted to scream and I wanted to weep. But, above all, I wanted Rylie to stay here with me, to hear the words. "Rylie, please…I'm not a mistake. If I were, why did you drag me out into the snow when lyrium fever threatened to burn me alive? Why did you…why did you beat a _lieutenant_ into a bloody pulp when he propositioned me in the tavern and would not desist? I know that all manner of things might go wrong, that there might be troubles and regrets but…but Maker strike me down, I am a _risk_ , not a _mistake_!"

I fell to my knees and I felt like I was dying. Breathing seemed too difficult a task, my heart burned, scorching me from within, and my eyes would not stop welling with tears. I kept opening my mouth, trying to speak, but I could not say anything. I could not see anything. I closed my eyes, picturing Rylie walking away from me, walking away from all that we had the potential to be. I was not like Leliana or Kathyra. I could not give voice to all of my emotion, could not explain my innermost heart with eloquence but…but I felt what I felt and I needed the woman I loved to know.

"I know you're not a mistake, Kestrel Ariyah." Rylie's brogue washed over me, sweet and soothing. I felt her arms wrapped around me and wanted nothing but that comfort and that warmth for eternity. " _I'm_ the mistake. I'm the risk. You saw me on that ship. I was the first one cut down, and I almost died and you deserve…you deserve someone who is going to be able to protect you and care for you as you've cared for me."

Her words were the height of idiocy, but I did not know how to tell her that. I could not find the words that would show her what I felt without hurting her. But I needed her to know that, in my mind, she could _never_ be considered a mistake. I had sorely missed the light that danced in her black eyes in this very moment. I wanted it to remain there forever. I wanted to be its cause. I loved her.

I reached out and framed her face with my hands, pulling her close before she could protest. My lips pressed against hers and I felt as though I had touched heaven. I could feel the strength of her features beneath my hands, hear the hitch in her breath as our lips entwined. She tasted like wintergreen, fresh and exhilarating, a taste that I could not gather enough of. I moved one arm, snaking it about her waist and pulling her close to me, refusing to break the kiss until all the breath fled my lungs. A soft moan vibrated from her throat against my lips and every muscle in my body _pulsed_.

The moment I did not wish to come happened and I had to break the kiss so that I might draw breath. Even in the pallid moonlight, I could see Rylie's cheeks flushed with heat and color. Her lips were swollen and the expression in her eyes one of dazed happiness and something…something deep beneath the surface. Something instinctual. Something primal.

"Kestrel," Rylie whispered my name with such reverence that hope bloomed in my heart, "Kestrel, I don't know what to say…"

"I do." I breathed, looking into her eyes, drowning in that inky darkness and praying I would never have to come back. "I love you, Rylie Camerloch. I've loved you since I first set eyes on you, and I've done nothing but love you more ever since. You are in _no_ way a mistake, and know that if you insist on believing so, and you leave me now…if you leave me now, I'll still love you. If you leave me now, I'll understand. Loving a mage…"

"Your magic doesn't matter." Rylie shook her head, her thick, bountiful hair waving, ghosting over my hands. "It couldn't ever matter. I didn't fall for a mage, or for a templar, Kes."

"Fell for?" I asked, struggling not to hope too far.

Rylie nodded. "I fell for a woman...a former thief." she told me, moving in closer, taking my lips with her own in a soft, hesitant whisper. "You stole into my heart. But…you know me, Kes. I'm not quiet, I can't keep a secret. What makes you think you can trust me? Why do you believe in me so much…enough to…" her voice caught, tripped, and my heart thrilled at the beauty of it, "…enough to believe that you love me?"

"Maybe because you saw every questionable thing that happened in training and remained my friend." I wanted her closer to me, but between us still lay a distance made of doubt. I would have to break it down, erase the doubt, and replace it with faith, if I could. "Because, on board that ship, when everyone on board was in fear of the abomination, frozen by it, you raised your weapon…"

"And it struck me down." Rylie's voice held a bitter edge. "It almost killed me. I'm not strong enough…"

"No one was." I reminded her, gentle. "The sole reason Leliana was able to kill it was that she had an enchanted bow built for that specific purpose. You are strong enough and I do trust you…with more than my life. I trust you with my magic, my secrets, my body, and my heart."

Rylie pondered my words; I could see the contemplation in her night sky eyes. I wondered if she could see me, suspended over the precipice, so close to falling, so close to losing the heart that loved her with all its being and power. It took all of my will and my strength to remain silent, to not continue to beg. I knew that constant pleading could break down a resistance out of sheer desperation to make it end. I did not want that. I wanted the full measure of her beautiful heart.

"What if, when tomorrow comes, you regret this?" Rylie asked, and once again my heart filled with a torrid rush of hope.

"I won't…"

"How can you be sure?" she demanded. "The heart can deceive. What if you believe that you want this, that you love me, and then tomorrow you realize the grave mistake you have made? What if you desire only the dream of me, not the reality?"

 _Who has broken your heart,_ I wondered, for the woman full of doubt in front of me was not Rylie Camerloch. _Who or what has destroyed your confidence and shaken your trust in the majesty of love?_

"If I desired but the dream of you, I would be content, for all of my dreaming has been of you from the moment I saw you. I will not regret this because…because sometimes tomorrow doesn't come. And if you will love me, if you feel as I feel and desire as I desire, then you need never worry about the coming of tomorrow for, in my heart, this night will never end. In my soul there is eternity, Rylie Camerloch, and that eternity is yours. I _love_ you."

I waited in the dark, praying that my words would be enough, praying that my promise would become her surety. I needed her as the dried fields needed rain, as the ships required the sea. I waited for her to speak, promising my very soul to whatever deity would help her see her way clear. Every beat of my heart was a plea.

 _Love me. Love me. Love me._

Tremulous, tentative, Rylie extended her hand. Her fingertips ghosted across my cheek and it felt so very right, so very perfect, that I wanted to weep. I breathed deep and my breath shuddered out of my lungs and my body. Every part of me pleaded. Every part of me raised its voice in prayer.

Slow, torturous and triumphant, Rylie kissed me. Tears fell from my eyes at the power and perfection of her kiss. I felt as though all that I had endured, learned, and suffered, had led me to this moment. I surrendered to the tender hesitancy of her lips, feeling that this kiss could last an eternity and that, at the end of it, I would die, happy and fulfilled. I poured all of my prayer into our kiss, hoping that she could feel in my touch what I failed to communicate with words.

Rylie broke our contact and pulled away. Her eyes were soft and contemplative. I thought I glimpsed sorrow in her features, and when her lips parted to speak my heart felt petrified with fear. My world realigned when her lips quirked upwards in the flash grin that melted hearts.

"I want that for the rest of my life, Kestrel Ariyah." she spoke, her lilting brogue more serious than I had ever heard it. "So if you've not looking for forever, leave right now."

"I'm not leaving." I promised, unable to control or mute the smile that spread across my features. "You'd have to kill me."

"Well, that's sorted." she smirked and tossed her hair behind her shoulders, staring at me in expectation.

I did not know what to do. She did nothing but sit there with that darling, precious grin on her face. I had been given everything that I had ever wanted, and I did not have the first thought in my head about where to go from here.

 _I did not expect her to return my affections,_ I realized. _I had no thought beyond this moment because I was preparing for my heart to be broken. What now do I do?_

"Rylie…" I managed to speak, at last, "…Rylie, I…I don't know what I am supposed to do."

She shook her head and sighed, but there was no disappointment in the gesture. Just laughter. The laughter that brightened my world and made every day seem new. The laughter that held all the unknown tomorrows at bay, wrapping me in the glorious now.

"You can try kissing me again." she offered. "As for after that, well, let's see where the night leads us. I, for one, do not plan to return to the barracks until morning. I thought, after the ship, that I would never want to hear the sounds of the sea again. How very wrong I was. This is calming. Peaceful."

I moved, drawing closer to Rylie. I propped myself up against the trunk of the tree, pulling her into my arms, holding her close to me beneath the moon. The softest of sighs whispered from her lips as she tucked her head against my shoulder. We had never been this intimate before, not with both of us well and cognizant of the emotion between us.

"This feels right." Rylie murmured, her breath, warm and tinged with wintergreen, washed across my skin, making me want, making me desire, making me _need_.

"Yes, it does." I smiled and hugged her tighter to me, knowing that, no matter what trials the years ahead would hold, no matter the pain endured or the losses suffered, I wanted _this_ woman by my side.

Rylie's hair felt so soft against my skin; it smelled of honeysuckle and sweet grass. That perfume, mingled with the spice of wintergreen on her breath, made my blood burn and my heart desire. I wanted her. I wanted her more than I had wanted magic stricken from my blood, more than I wanted my father back from death, more than I wanted my next breath. I took her bountiful curls in my hand, moving them aside, laying bare the skin of her neck.

I leaned down and pressed my lips there, intoxicated by the taste of her skin. I felt her body relax into my arms and a soft moan vibrated from her throat against my lips. She turned in my embrace and captured my mouth, a soft, delicate, languid kiss that quickly heated beneath the moon. The crashing of the waves against the rocks in the cove beat in my heart like a drum and a fire sparked in my spirit that had never before lit.

Her mouth parted with another soft moan and I swiped my tongue out, tasting her lips. Her hand latched around the back of my head, pulling me closer, crushing us together. I could not feel enough of her. I could not taste enough of her. Our tongues danced, our teeth collided and I smiled, but I did not break the kiss because to be parted from her, even for a moment, would be agony. I had never dreamed that this moment, this exquisite ecstasy, a perfect happiness in mind, body, heart, and soul could ever be mine.

However, Rylie pressed her hand against my chest and pulled away. My breathing was ragged, my heart aflame, and I stared at her, devastated by the distance that separated us. Her eyes were blazing, an obsidian conflagration that made me want to dive deep into them and never emerge and never return. I loved her. I wanted her. The distance was killing me.

"What do you want, Kes?" Rylie asked, and I wondered if she still doubted me. "In this moment, what do you want?"

I had but a single word to give her. "More." I whispered, the word jagged and raw as it left my lips. "I want more."

Rylie's hands, strong and solid and callused, flew to the lacings of my shirt. It took her all of a second for her to undo the laces, grasp my shirt and wrench it up over my head. She tossed it aside, against the tree, and reached out again, only for her hands to freeze. I wore no breast band, and I hoped that, as she took in my body, she would find it to her liking. That she would find nothing to regret.

"Kestrel." her voice tremored over my name. "Kestrel, you're so…you're beautiful."

I held out both of my hands. "I am yours." I offered myself to her as my heart tripped over itself and my stomach fluttered. "I'm yours, Rylie."

Rylie's hands completed their journey and came to rest on my shoulders. Her fingers fanned out and she ran them down my arms, sending shivers of want and anticipation through my body. I wanted her so badly. So very badly. I knew that my center was already slicked and the muscles there pulsed as Rylie moved her hands over my body, begging for an intimate touch, an inexorable connection with the woman I loved.

"Lie back." Rylie murmured. "Please."

I could not, nor did I want to, deny her. I landed on my back in the soft grass, looking at the stars overhead and the leaves of the tree, which were silhouetted by the moon. Warmth flooded my body as Rylie lay alongside me, propping herself up on her elbow, her eyes sparking as they met mine. Her free hand rested on my stomach and the taut muscles beneath the skin twitched under her hand, thrumming and begging and praying in their own right.

It was sweet torture as her hand moved over the flat planes of my abdomen. The muscles had become more defined since the horror of the mission. I had not eaten or slept properly, even once Rylie and Kathyra were out of danger, and it showed. I had always been slender, but now I bordered on gaunt, and I could see the worry in Rylie's eyes as she saw that with her eyes and felt it with her hands.

"You have to take better care of yourself, Kes." she whispered, pulling herself closer to me, as if to protect me from the slight chill of the evening. "You're too thin. Everyone's noticed, and I am…I'm worried about you."

"I will do better." I promised, closing my eyes and moaning in utter content as her fingers brushed the base of my breast. "Please don't worry. Please keep touching me."

Her lips lowered to mine and I became lost in her kiss until the fire of her hand came to rest over my breast. It was so small that it fit in her palm, but I did not care, for her touch felt perfect. Our tongues danced together once again and I got lost in the rapture as she applied gentle, kneading pressure to my breast, cupping it, tracing delicate patterns across my nipple. I froze beneath her hand and she broke the kiss, looking at me in concern and confusion. My lips were parted, my breathing heavy; I could not speak. Her thumb brushed against my rigid nipple and my hips bucked of their own volition as I cried out, my voice lost in the crashing of the waves.

A flashing smile dazzled me as Rylie looked down, the familiar, mischievous glint back in her eyes. "It's been quite some time, I take it?" she teased.

"It is not the length of time I have gone without intimacy…" her hand moved to my opposite breast, repeating its motion, turning me into a trembling ball of frenetic _need_. "It is…it is you touching me. I love you, Rylie," I did not care that the words sounded like a desperate sob, for they held the truth of my emotions and the truth of my body, "I want you so much I feel that I shall die if I do not have you. Please…" she brushed my nipple again and my vocabulary faded to a single word. " _Please_."

She pulled me to her and lowered her head, her hair blanketing my neck, brushing against my cheek. Warmth and heat and perfection enveloped my breast as her mouth closed over it and I did not attempt to be silent. Joy and pleasure peeled from my lips as I gloried in her touch. Her tongue ravaged the tip of my nipple and my back arched into her touch and I felt the arousal between my legs grow more insistent, more slick, more desperate and needy.

"Rylie…" I panted her name, but she said nothing, simply moved her mouth from one breast to the other, leaving my nerves in a perfect state of over-stimulation.

Her tongue drew lazy circles around my other nipple while her hand closed over the breast she had abandoned, keeping it warm in the chill of the night. Her thumb and tongue worked in tandem and my eyes rolled back, my head flew back, my back arched and my legs quivered. My center pounded with want and craving. I needed to feel her. I needed to be one with her, to sate and expand the love that made my heart blaze.

"Rylie…" I whispered again and her lips moved away from my breasts, moving up my neck in affectionate bites and kisses that threatened to undo me.

At last, her eyes met mine again, her waterfall of chestnut hair shielded us. My body was shaking. I almost could not bear the pain of this exquisite need that she awakened in me. I knew how vulnerable I appeared, but I did not care. I wanted her to see me this way, to know that she had all of me, even the part that feared.

"Look at me, Kestrel." Rylie ordered, and I did not have the power to do anything else.

She laced her arm around my neck and I could see love shining in her eyes, even though she had not yet spoken the words. I believed that she would. I had to keep believing that she would. I wanted her so desperately to touch me.

"Take off your trousers." she said, and I obeyed, lifting my knees and pulling off the soft linen trousers and my smallclothes, tossing them in the vague direction of the tree, where my shirt had gone.

I lay before her, complete and bare, waiting for what she would do next, feeling my body pillowed in the soft grasses, wishing that she would remove her clothing and lie naked with me. But I would wait. I could wait for an eternity if it meant I could be with her only once. Her eyes took in the expanse of my nakedness.

"Lovelier and lovelier." she whispered, looking back at me with the purity of true affection in her eyes. "How do you do it, Kestrel Ariyah? How do you make me love you more with every moment?"

"You love me?" I asked, almost not daring to believe it, even though we were here, touching, intimate, and naked.

"With all my heart." emotion thickened her brogue and my lips trembled as tears once more fell from my eyes. Tears of replete happiness.

"Rylie…" I reached towards her face.

"Hush, my darling." she murmured. "Lie still. Let me love you."

Her eyes did not stray from mine as her hand charted a path downward. Her fingers moved through the curls between my legs, her eyes lighting as she felt how very ready I was for her touch. I bit my lip and almost sobbed as she ran her fingers through my swollen folds; nearly coming undone when she found the rigid bundle of nerves at the apex of my sex. Rylie tormented me with gentle sweeps of her fingers across that bundle. A coil of heat gathered low in my belly, straining to its limit, driving me towards my peak.

"Rylie!" her name emerged in a high-pitched whimper. "Rylie, I need you inside. Please, love. I'm so…" she circled me once more and my hips thrust upward of their own volition while my back arched and I yelped in surprise and pleasure. "…I'm so close."

The smile that rivaled the sun in all its brilliance flashed across Rylie's face. She leaned down, covering my body as much as she could. Her lips pressed against mine in an agonizingly intimate kiss. With exquisite precision and unerring tenderness, Rylie slipped two fingers inside of me. It had been quite some time since I had been intimate, and I could feel every millimeter as she entered me and claimed me for her own. I moaned into her mouth as we kissed, breaking our connection as she pulled out of me and pushed back in.

I moved against her fingers, taking her deeper, tears falling from my eyes when she would not move faster, would not go deeper. My entire body trembled as if experiencing an earthquake from within. Rylie's damnable, talented hand was the epicenter, and I threatened to break apart. I clutched fistfuls of grass in my hands, desperate to anchor myself so that I did not split apart. Rylie's pace did not alter, did not quicken and did not slow. If I could have spoken, I would have begged. I would have begged for release and relief for I hovered on the razor's edge and it threatened to split me in half.

I heard the grass I grasped snapping beneath the pressure and tension of my hands and Rylie's thumb reached out. With two fingers she entered me; her thumb pressed against the pulsing nerve bundle. I screamed out my pleasure as my body coalesced and spun outward. White flashed before my eyes as every nerve sang with a pleasure infinite and endless, the pleasure of true lovemaking. This was not to pass the time. This was not mild enjoyment with a talented partner. This was all that I wanted, all that I would ever want for the rest of my days and it was _exquisite_.

My breath ran out and my triumphant cry faded to shuddering whimpers. Rylie's hand remained in me, locked tight there by the muscles that did not wish to let her go, that wished to keep her in this place, one with me, forever. I could feel tears drying on my face and when I looked into Rylie's night-sky eyes I could see her fascination and her joy. I released the grass that I held and turned into her, wrapping my arms around her, holding her tight and pillowing my head against her breasts. A long moment of silence passed between us and the last of the aftershocks spindled through my body, Rylie drawing out my pleasure further as she tenderly removed her hand.

I lifted my head from her breasts, far more ample and beautiful than mine, and smiled into her eyes, which were shining with delight. I wanted to speak, but I did not know if I could find the proper words for what I had just experienced. It had been beyond any other climax, any other dream. It had been perfect.

"I want to make you look like that and scream like that for the rest of our lives." Rylie breathed, and for the first time I saw pure _joy_ stamped on her features, radiant and miraculous and all in this world that was beautiful.

"I love you, Rylie." I never wanted to stop saying those words. I never wanted to stop looking into her eyes. I wanted…I wanted to do for her what she had done for me. I wanted to make love to her.

"I love you too." she said, and I frowned.

Her heart was in the words that she said, but her eyes were distant, distant in a way that troubled me. I reached up and tucked her curls behind her ear, turning her face to mine, searching her features for what had gone wrong.

 _Is it something that I have done_? I wondered, worry washing away the replete feeling of my body, the bliss of the climax she had wrung from me.

"Rylie?" I asked, wondering if she was still here with me. "Rylie, what have I done? Have I…have I hurt you?"

"No, my darling." she shook her head, but I could not believe her. "We should…we should return to the barracks. Time will run out for us too soon." she propped herself up, removing me from her embrace. "I will gather your clothes."

She got to her feet and I sat up, naked, confused, and hurt. I did not want to be pleasured then abandoned. I wanted to show her the measure of my love, to touch her, to hold her, to be one with her as she had been with me. I did not understand why she stood away from me, lifting my clothes from the ground. She walked back to me and held them out. I shook my head.

"What did I do, Rylie?" I demanded to know. "What did I do that…do you not want me to touch you?"

She said nothing, but her body told me all that I needed. The arm that held my clothes out to me dropped by her side, and her other arm covered her waist in a protective posture. I wracked my mind, attempting to come down from the bliss of pleasure, to be able to see what she needed me to see, for it was evident that she did not wish to give voice to it.

"Rylie, please," I entreated, "speak to me. You said…you said that you loved me. Why now do you hide? Why do you turn away?"

Her eyes met mine and her lips trembled. "You're perfect, Kestrel." her brogue made the words poetry and dirge. "Your skin is alabaster, flawless underneath the moon and I'm not…I'm not beautiful anymore. You deserve perfection akin to your own and that's something…that is something I can no longer offer you."

 _Oh sweet Maker above! How did I not realize?_

"Rylie, is it the scar?" I took a step forward, heartened when she did not back away from me. "Do you think it disfigures you?"

"It does." she stated, her eyes blank, her tone neutral. "It is not what you deserve, not what you desire."

"I desire you." I reached out and touched her arms, running my hands up and down them. "Every part of you. Rylie, I have seen your scar…"

"That was _different_." she strained the word. "You were taking care of me then. It is…this is…not the same, Kestrel. It is not the same. You did not care what you saw then, but you will care now."

"I will not, I swear it." I wanted to sink down to my knees, to entreat her, but all I could do was stand before her naked, praying that she would see her way clear and enter my arms once more. I reached for the hem of her shirt, asking her permission with my eyes.

"Kestrel, I'm afraid." Rylie spoke barely above a whisper. "I've dreamed of you touching me and then…" she shivered, "…every dream when I bared the scar all you could see was the wound and my failure. If we stop here, it can just be a nightmare, but if you touch me…if you touch me, Kestrel, the nightmare might be real."

"You've trusted me this far." I pleaded with her. "Please trust me one step further. Please."

Rylie closed her eyes, her lips still trembling and her eyelashes casting shivery shadows across her cheeks. "I trust you." she breathed. "I'm so sorry that I cannot offer you…that I cannot offer you something complete."

Slow, gentle, I lifted her shirt up over her head, setting it aside. My heart thundered into my ribs as I removed her breastband, freeing her large, satin-smooth breasts. I saw the scar that stretched from her shoulder, between her breasts, to her hipbone. I remembered the wound that had made it, a horrific gash that would not stop bleeding. I had been forced to cauterize it. Rylie had screamed and my heart had broken. I did not know how she could think that I would turn her away for this reminder of her injury. I had made this scar.

 _She was so ill,_ my throat tightened at the thought. _Burning with fever, speaking out in delirium as we tried desperately to cool her temperature and keep her from thrashing so that the wound did not crack open and bleed. Somehow, she survived. Somehow, she stayed strong and fierce but…but she is still recovering. I know that there are men and women in this world who would see this scar and recoil. I also know that one of the greatest loves of this age…but Rylie did not see. She does not know._

"You are so beautiful." I whispered my truth to her, resting my hands on her hips and pulling her forward. "This scar, so pure, so elegant, so you. It is a badge of honor, sweet girl, and I am privileged that you allow me to see it."

"Privileged?" Rylie asked, confused, still hesitant to meet my gaze. "Don't lie to me, Kes." she warned. "I will endure a great many things, but I will _not_ be lied to."

I nodded, because I understood. However, I also needed her to understand. She had not witnessed what I had witnessed, but…but to those who were damaged, either in body or in mind, the world could show cruelty unending.

"Did you find Seeker Leliana to be beautiful?" I inquired, feeling so strange for asking my love such things while I stood naked before her.

"I…yes." Rylie admitted, low. "She is a very beautiful woman."

"I agree." I smiled, hoping to make her feel better about the admission. "What you did not have in the manner that I did was a glimpse of Seeker Leliana's wife."

"The Hero of Ferelden?" Ryie queried, lifting her eyebrows. "Of course _she_ bears a scar…perhaps more than one. But she killed an archdemon, Kestrel. A warrior who can do such a thing must be nearly invulnerable…able to protect themselves from blemishes."

"Not in the least." I cupped her chin in my palm and turned her eyes to mind. "Salem Cousland is so horrifically scarred that I cannot rightly tell you the shade of her complexion. Her back is a patchwork of ruined skin, her arms and hands are swathed with burns, her chest and torso decorated with the memories of wounds suffered. You know the tale that Bronson told us of her, the one we did not believe?" Rylie nodded. "It's true. There are gaps in the shells of her ears, where rats ate her flesh." my love shuddered and I did not fault her for it. "All of the stories we heard, I saw the evidence in her body. It is…difficult to look at. Difficult not to pity."

"You can't pity her." Rylie spat. "She is a hero. Everyone overlooks the scars of a hero. Their deeds mask the blemishes."

"Rylie." I loved the way her name sounded, tasted, and smelled. "Do you not think that Leliana loved Salem _before_ she became a hero? That she loved her before and after scar upon scar was written into her flesh? Before they were heroes, before they were legend, Salem and Leliana Cousland were just as we are."

"Scarred and afraid?" Rylie condemned herself and I did not like it.

"Wounded, but in love." I replied and Rylie's countenance lightened. "I'm no good with words, Rylie." I told her what she knew already, "but if you let me, I will show you how I look at your scar. I will show you what I see and hear and feel. Please, let me."

Rylie lowered her head and her hair dropped like a curtain. I could not see her face. After a moment of silence, during which the beating of my own heart deafened me, my deliverance came.

"Yes." my love breathed. "I trust you. I love you. So, yes. But, I beg of you, be gentle."

I frowned, parted her hair, and lifted her eyes to mine. "The injury pains you still?" I asked, concerned.

Rylie nodded. "It is not constant." she told me. "But when it does hurt, the pain is nearly crippling. I want this, Kestrel, but I am afraid. Afraid that it _will_ hurt, that I will end it and that, _then_ , you will see me as a waste of your efforts."

"A waste…" I trailed off, the high of my release washing out of my body. "A waste…" that she could ever have thought of herself in such a way hurt me beyond belief.

 _She is all that is beautiful. All that is bold and brilliant and how_ _ **dare**_ _she sell herself short when I am naked before her, already vulnerable, already having given her all that I possess?_

"Kestrel?" Rylie asked, and when I met her eyes, all my anger flooded out of me. In her own way, in confiding to me what she had, she had made herself as vulnerable as I. "Kestrel, forgive me. I should not have…"

I stopped her words with a soft, gentle kiss. She had no need to apologize, for she had done nothing wrong. She tasted like heaven and perfection and I wanted her, even if this scar would always cause her to worry. I would worship it until she no longer did so. Love saw no blemishes, and made no demands. Not in the case of something such as this. The kiss broke and Rylie rested her head on my shoulder. I held her against me, tangling my hand in her hair.

"You have no need to apologize." I assured her. "You have done nothing wrong. It is…you are perfect to me." I whispered. "But I cannot ask for what you are not comfortable giving me."

"I want to give you everything." Rylie replied. "Lend me your courage, please. I'm so afraid, and I know it is needless fear…but it I there nonetheless."

"Through no fault of your own." I promised her, running my hands across her bare back, then moving them to her shoulders. "May I?" I asked for her permission, even though her shirt had already been removed, even though I already had her trust; had seen her scar.

"Yes." she sounded so small, so scared. "Please be gentle."

"I shall." I promised, easing her backward with all the gentleness I could muster. My fingers were shaking. I wanted to touch her so much.

It became so much less about her scar and so much more about that pressing need to touch. I wrapped my arms around her in an embrace, naked flesh to naked flesh. I thrilled at the heat of her body and traced patterns across the soft, lovely expanse of her skin. I knew that Rylie was still summoning her strength. I knew that she felt as though her beauty had been stolen. But years and battles could mar her and I would never see anything but the snap-crackle of fire in her eyes, hear the silk in her laughter, and live for the perfect, precious moments of her touch.

"What?" I asked, for she had whispered into my neck something I did not hear.

"Please don't leave me." Rylie whispered, and my heart broke. She truly believed herself to be so damaged that no one would desire her.

"I'm right here." I promised. "With you always. Take all the time you need."

Slow, afraid, but still willing to trust me, Rylie moved back of her own volition, but crossed her arms over her chest, still attempting to protect herself. I did not care. I would wait forever. I would not tell her not to be afraid. I would not tell her to hasten. I would wait, for moments or for decade, until she saw her way clear. When that happened, I would be there. Waiting. Loving.

Then, I witnessed something more beautiful than I had ever seen. Careful, deliberate, Rylie dropped her arms and I gasped as the moon moved out from behind the clouds, illuminating what I had not seen before. Two perfect, beautiful breasts, nipples already pebbled and erect, begging to be tasted.

Four bundles of muscle, defined in stark relief across her abdomen, twitched and heaved with her breathing. I set eyes again on the scar that caused her so much grief, a wide swatch of darker, uneven tissue that ran from her right shoulder, between her breasts, to her hip. Inside my mind, I winced at the sight of it, not because I found it disfiguring, but because its breadth, its length, its _being_ was my fault.

 _I could not control the bleeding,_ I remembered. _It would not cease and Rylie was so pale…too close to losing too much blood. I drew flame into my hand and I burned her,_ my throat tightened at the memory of her eyes flaring open, filled with pain, and the screams that haunted me in my nightmares. _I am the reason that this scar is so wide, so deep, and so painful. The Ferelden healer mage even said that my worries were the truth…she also said that, under our circumstances, no other choices remained. I saved her life and in doing so…may have damaged her psyche forever._

"It's hideous." Rylie breathed, and I heard the self-condemnation in her words. She did not speak of the scar, but of herself.

My emotion, my abject and utter love of her, nested in my throat, making it difficult to speak. I would never be able to find adequate words to tell her that I could stand here forever, riveted to and silenced by her perfection.

"Lovely." I breathed. "I…I can find nothing that is not beautiful."

Her arms moved to cover herself and sorrow pooled in her obsidian eyes and I wanted to know where I had gone wrong; what I had done.

"Please don't lie to me, Kestrel." she begged again, her words full of pain and betrayal and I wanted to scream out my frustrations, my disgust at my inability to say things properly.

"I would _never_ lie to you." I insisted, praying that she could see beyond her self-doubt for long enough to believe me. "Rylie…you do not know this…or perhaps you do…but the scar on your body…it is…it is my fault. I had to burn you so that your wound would stop bleeding. You…you would not have had that scar, were it not for my creating it."

"I don't blame you, Kestrel." Rylie shook her head. "You saved my life. You…you kept me anchored in this world, and I am grateful."

"Then why…" I asked, wondering why the scar made her so self-conscious if she knew that I had made it.

"I don't want you to think of that night when you see this." Rylie explained, the grief she held and her care for me both evident in her voice. "I don't want you to look at me and remember fear and pain and the stench of burning flesh!" her voice rose and my heart broke at the depth and power of her emotions. Her head fell and her hair shielded her face once again as she hugged herself. I knew she expected me to leave, as women were wont to do when their intentions had been questions and their affections rebuffed.

Instead, I drew closer. "I love you, Rylie." I whispered, tucking my head beneath her chin, raising her fear-stricken eyes to mind. "All I see is you." I breathed, placing a chaste kiss against her lips. "All I hear is you." I leaned down and pressed a kiss to the beginning of the scar, and Rylie shivered against me. "All I taste and remember is you." I promised her.

Slow, careful, and deliberate, I kissed along the line of her scar, tasting the salt on her skin, feeling her twitch and hearing her breath catch beneath my touch. At the end of the scar, I was on my knees before my queen and my goddess, looking up into her eyes, my heart full to bursting with adoration and affection.

"All that I desire," I breathed, "is you. In this moment and in all moments, all that I desire is you. Please?" I smiled into her eyes, where light had begun to dwell once more. "Please?"

Rylie said nothing, but she did not need to. Her hands moved to the laces of her trousers, undoing them with a slow surety, a soldier's methodical movements, that thrilled me to my very core. I remained her supplicant as she pushed the clothing off of her hips, her smallclothes following with alacrity. The wind brought her scent to me and I nearly forgot myself in my desire to taste…in my desire to devour.

My hands were shaking as I removed the sandals from her feet and finished undressing her, an act I wished to perform until I no longer had the strength to fall on my knees before her. I folded her clothes, setting them gently beside my own hastily discarded garments.

That done, I turned my attention back to my goddess, a woman scarred; a woman beautiful. I framed her sides with my hands and drew her near me, feeling her heat, touching her texture, sensing her need, so much stronger than mine had been, so much more desperate for she had wanted equally as I…and now her doubts had been cast away.

I pressed my lips to the thin skin that covered her hip bone, feeling her fingers thread into my hair and her body jerk at my touch. Encouraged, I traced my tongue in a lazy sweep across bone and skin and scar, dipping ever so swiftly down and into the wiry chestnut garden above her sex.

A high-pitched mewling sound escaped from her and I buried my face in the thicket of her hair, basking in her scent and tormenting her with a wash of heated breath, flooding her most intimate places.

"Kes." she moaned my name as my hand moved from her hip and traveled down her outer thigh and up her inner thigh until my hand cupped her sex, applying the slightest of pressures. She moved her hips, seeking more contact, and I pulled away, pleased by the slight growl of frustration that I heard. "You...bitch." she hissed as I cupped her once more, drawing my fingers through and glorying in her swollen folds, the slick measure of her arousal and want, and the un-meant insult whispered in desperation.

"Lie down, my goddess." I whispered, not caring if my words dripped with overblown romanticism. I wanted to say them. I meant them.

Rylie dropped to her knees in front of me and I wrapped my arms around her, bruising her lips in a searing kiss that both promised and paid homage. I forgot how to be gentle when I tasted the wintergreen of her breath once more. I forgot how to be measured and methodical as I took her to the ground and covered her with my body, becoming her shield. I forgot how to be reverent as profane words spilled from her lips, caused by my touch.

I forgot moderation when I tasted her.

I pinned her hips to the ground and ravaged her with my tongue, stroking it through every fold, every hill and valley. I found the entrance to the stream of her desire and I claimed it, pushing my tongue inside of her as far as I could reach, curling it and twisting it deeper and deeper, drowning myself in her depths. Rylie writhed beneath me and cried out into the night. I felt her body catch fire and her hands shredded at my hair but I did not feel the pain.

"Kestrel!" Rylie panted my name. "For the love…of the Maker!" She looked down at me and her entire body shuddered. " _Please!"_ she begged, a ragged entreaty beneath the moon.

That tone, those words…I needed no more. I moved upwards with my tongue and filled her with my fingers, feeling her shaking around my hand. Unwilling to be as slow, as methodical as she had been with me, I wrapped my lips around her pulsing bundle of nerves, sucking her in deep, massaging her with my tongue as my fingers curled upwards within her.

Her cry rent the night, her back arched, her hips lifted, and a flood of her pleasure coated my hand. I gloried in it, drinking her essence down as though it were water, life itself. Every light touch caused her to shudder, a tremble, a whimper. I wanted to push her to the edge again. I wanted to fall with her.

Slow, worshipful, I made my way up her body, planting my hands on either side of her, waiting until her wide eyes settled on me. With her eyes there, I leaned down and kissed her, swallowing her moan as she tasted herself on my lips…wintergreen and chamomile. Hard and soft. Fear and courage. Mage and templar. Two perfect opposites aligning themselves into a whole, into a creation never before made.

I moved against her, my slender frame fitting within her borders so well I wanted to weep. Our centers joined, perfect pressure against perfect pressure and we smiled at one another as everything aligned and made sense.

"Kestrel," Rylie whispered, a grin flashing and vanishing across her lips.

"Yes, dearest?" I asked, happier now than I had ever dreamed of being.

"I'm rather trapped under you, love." she quipped, then her features hardened. " _Start moving._ "

I stared at her, then laughed aloud. Her voice joined me, a higher harmony of perfection. This night, for us, would be the sort of forever that, while never known again, would never fade away.

 _Sometimes tomorrow doesn't come,_ I thought, smiling down at my lover, my forever. _As far as I am concerned, it never will. This moment will be the eternity of my heart. This love is the destiny I ever have sought._


	4. Could I but Harness the Sky

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hello all! I am so terribly sorry that this is late, and that I missed August, but if you've been keeping up with "Sick World that Damns its Saviors", you know that I've been a bit busy, so updates have been patchy. In any case, I hope you enjoy this month's Femslash Friday prompt._

 _Coming to you from Priceless2, the prompt reads: "A Leliana/Josephine coupling set during the Dragon Age: Inquisition timeline, with some competition by a female Inquisitor (of your choice) for Josephine's affections. While I would prefer romance/angst, it could be romance-candy, fluff, smut…as they come to your mind." Well, since you were so kind with the prompt parameters, I hope you like this._

 _Bright Blessings All,_

 _~Raven_

* * *

 **Could I but Harness the Sky**

She knew patience. She knew the wait, the pause, the careful intake of breath before the rewards of patience ended in sustenance and life. Rynway Lavellan understood life and death on an intimate level, for life in her clan prepared her for such things. It prepared her to struggle for a livelihood in a world that, for the Dalish, dwindled day by day as humans bred like rabbits, claiming more and more land for titles and reputation instead of for survival.

Survival…survival was so very important now. Rynway paced outside of the room, wishing that the walls of Skyhold were not so thick. She could hear a cat's whisker brush a rose petal from fifty paces away, but she could not make out the hushed, worried voices behind the thick oak door. She raked a worried hand through fiery tresses, wondering when it had gone wrong. How it had gone wrong. Everything was _wrong_ and somewhere through the line of time, it had to make _sense_.

* * *

 _Rynway runs. She heard the clash of steel and the sick thud of a body hitting the floor. It is coming from the one place where violence has never been. It is coming from the_ _ **one**_ _place violence_ _ **cannot**_ _happen. Ryn throws open the door to Josephine's office, shocked when the acrid stench of blood assaults her. Her blade is in her hand, but it is useless now. There is a body on the floor. From the look of the sergeant standing over the body, her blade stained crimson, the blood belongs to the dead man._

 _"What's happened?" Ryn asks and, in spite of her diminutive height and slight figure, the entire focus of the room shifts to her. She wishes that it would not. She is not the one of importance here._

 _"An assassination attempt, so it would seem." a cool, Orlesian accent replies and Ryn stiffens as the Inquisition's spymaster enters Josephine's office from the direction of the War Room. "The House of Repose at last made good on their threat, I see."_

 _"We cannot know that." Ryn shakes her head, sheathing her knife and moving towards the body. "He is wearing the armor of an Inquisition scout."_

 _The Dalish woman kneels beside the body, takes a fistful of the dead man's soft, blonde hair in her hand, and wrenches his face upward, showing his features to Leliana. "Is he one of yours, spymaster?" she asks._

 _"No." Leliana shakes her head, but Ryn is not certain if the former bard even gave the man's face proper attention. She appears preoccupied, moving across the room towards the desk, and the frightened woman who sits behind it. "Josephine, darling, are you all right?"_

 _Ryn's ears chafe at the endearment falling from Leliana's lips. She knows that this anger should not be present in her, that Leliana has every right to call Josephine her "darling", but that does not keep it from_ _ **hurting**_ _. Josephine Montilyet was the first shem to look at Rynway as something other than an elven spy suspected of murdering the beloved Divine. She seemed to be the first to understand Rynway's logic. The elf did not follow the shemlen's gods; why should she, or any of the Dalish, feel enough anger to kill the voice of the Maker in Thedas? Those words had been enough for Josephine to segue immediately into what the Inquisition, should Rynway cast her lot with them, needed from the Dalish rogue._

 _There is no answer from Josephine, and Ryn's senses fire with alarm. She looks at the sergeant's feet; the crushed weapon beneath the soldier's boot. It is a weapon that, while not familiar to her in its use, is not unknown to her mind. She has seen Leliana training with such a weapon, in fact. A small crossbow affixed to a sheath that wrapped around the wrist and forearm. It is built for a swift kill that does not disable the arm by encumbering the hand with a weapon. He wears a bandolier about his upper arm, filled with wicked, barbed bolts. There is one missing, and it is not in the crossbow, or near it._

 _"_ _ **Mon Dieu!**_ _" Leliana exclaims in Orlesian, pulling Ryn's attention towards her. "_ _ **Josie!**_ _"_

 _There are too many sounds all at once. A wooden chair scraped across a stone floor, a sharp hiss of worry and empathy, a whimper of pain pulled from the diplomat's lips. The scent of blood still hangs heavy in the air, but Ryn's eyes are riveted to Josephine. The ambassador's purple sash is darkened by a spreading stain. At the stain's epicenter is the fletching of a steel bolt._

 _Ryn sees Josephine attempt to move and her heart feels pierced as it had been four years ago, a time buried in the past, a time that Rynway never wishes to recall. She dashes away the memory, for in the now she_ _ **must**_ _act._

 _"Do not move!" she cries out, leaping to her feet and bounding over Josephine's desk, resting an authoritative hand on the Antivan woman's shoulder. "Josephine, do not move."_

 _Ryn can feel the spymaster's eyes burning a hole through her skin. She can feel the anger beneath the woman's worry but she does not care, in this moment. All that matters is that Josephine's dark skin has gone pale, that the ambassador's soft, gentle hands are stained with blood, covering a wound. Josephine is not like Leliana, not like Rynway…she is not accustomed to physical pain and grave injury._

 _"Sergeant!" Ryn cries and the soldier is there, awaiting orders. "Find help and bring a bed here. Ambassador Montilyet cannot afford to be moved too far. Send a runner for Vivienne and the surgeon. We will need them both."_

 _"Leli." Josephine gasps, drawing both Ryn and Leliana's attention. "Leli, I do not…I do not feel quite right."_

 _"You will be fine." Leliana assures her, and Ryn does not know how the spymaster can seem so calm when the woman she purports to_ _ **love**_ _has been badly hurt. "You simply need to stay put for a little while."_

 _"I would like…I would like to lie down." Josephine admits, graceful even in this situation. "I cannot seem to…get my breath."_

 _"Soon, Josie, very soon. Just a moment longer." Leliana promises, the tenderness in her voice breaking Ryn's heart, for the elf wishes that she could speak so._

 _She wishes that it is her hand that undoes Josephine's bound hair, setting the obsidian waves free. She wishes that it is her lips that press to Josephine's cheek, her fingers that twine with the ambassador's, providing strength. Ryn thought…she thought. She believed. She should not have. Belief is the bane of a keen mind. Her father attempted to teach her that lesson. She failed four years ago. She has failed again._

 _Josephine's eyes open and they are full of fear. They do not scream out to Ryn, however. They scream out to Leliana. "Why am I so cold?" she asks, and Ryn's heart snaps in two. "There is a fire but I am freezing."_

 _Leliana's eyes tighten at the corners, the sole sign of stress in the composed woman's features. "She's going into shock." the Orlesian whispers._

 _Rynway rises to her feet and speaks to Leliana. "She needs to lie down." the elf says, an adamant edge in her tone. "We can elevate her legs, get blankets, attempt to prevent shock."_

 _"No." Leliana shakes her head. "We wait for the bed and the healers. She_ _ **cannot**_ _be moved in her current state. Do you_ _ **know**_ _what an arrow to the belly can do to someone?"_

 _Ryn's black eyes harden and crystalize into diamond glints. "I surely do."_

* * *

Rynway paced back and forth outside of the door, her heart growing heavier and hurting more with every passing moment. She could hear no words, but she could hear the muffled moans of pain. Somehow, the gut-wrenching sounds were eloquent still. Because it was Josephine. Josephine Montilyet, a shem who knew nothing of the elves, who immersed herself in the cultures of shemlen countries, who knew so much about her own people, and so little of any other race. Somehow, her eyes had been the eyes that captured Rynway's heart, ensnaring it before the elf had any chance of escape.

The moment Ryn accepted the mark and her unique ability to close the rifts in the sky, she turned to Josephine, begging instruction. The elf was not above humbling herself, admitting that she knew nothing. Many nights, after the day's duties were done, Ryn would remain awake with Josephine, learning shemlen history. She knew by heart the complications of the Nevarran royal family, and Cassandra Pentaghast's place within it. She knew the intrigues of the Orlesian court, the vagaries of the Tevinter Imperium, the scandals of Antiva, the difficulties faced by the Free Marches, the hardness of Ferelden and its people, and the aloof disinterestedness of Rivain.

At first, those hours had been a duty that she must perform. Just as she had learned the minutiae of every animal she brought down on the hunt, she must learn the countries and people upon whom the Inquisition depended for support. She needed to understand the shemlen's Maker, their hero Andraste, and how that belief had led to what Leliana and Cassandra named the mage-templar war. However, those hours soon became less about gaining knowledge and more about spending time in the Antivan ambassador's company.

Ryn found Josephine's accent intoxicating; the cadence and lilt of her words caused the elf's heart to flutter in her chest like a hummingbird. The ambassador was possessed of a keen intelligence…a different sort of intelligence than that possessed by Leliana or Cassandra or Vivienne. Josephine knew how to end a conflict before it even began, because she possessed the eyes to see the potential for it from far away. She did not boast, but no one, not even Cullen, a master tactician, could best Josephine in the game of chess.

Little by little, night by night, as Josephine taught Ryn the shemlen languages, the elf felt herself falling further and further. It was not the spoken languages the Lady Montilyet taught, but the unspoken ones. She educated Ryn in the language of dance, the language of flowers, and the language of fans that had become all the rage in Orlais, used for sending covert messages in plain view. Through all of these instructions, Ryn managed to impress the Antivan with her quick memory and keen mind…until the night she was forced to admit her weakness.

* * *

 _Ryn watches, enraptured, as Josephine speaks of the Countess Mignonette, a wealthy eccentric from Orlais. The countess is due to arrive this evening on invitation from Josephine, sent after the countess expressed an interest in aiding the Inquisition. The moment the messenger arrived, Josephine summoned Rynway. She frowns as she examines the elf's comfortable, exceedingly plain garments. They do nothing to show that Ryn is the vaunted Inquisitor, but the elf is fond of them after the weeks that she spends dressed in her hard leather armor that protects, but does not_ _ **breathe**_ _._

 _"This will not do at all." Josephine shakes her head. "Rynway," the ambassador never uses the shortened version of the Inquisitor's name, in spite of the many times Ryn has informed her that it would give no offense, "I must ask a favor of you for this evening."_

 _Ryn nods, willing to offer anything, though Josephine does not know that. The elf has kept her lips sealed even as her heart seems to expand daily with praise and affection for the remarkable, talented woman before her._

 _Josephine smiles, but an apology lies in her eyes, something that troubles Ryn. "The Countess Mignonette is…how do I put this delicately..." Josephine taps her chin with the feather of her quill, an endearing quirk that Ryn adores. "Alas, I cannot find any words but those that are blunt. The countess is considered, in Orlais of all places, to be a sexual deviant. She prefers the…the intimate company of women, exclusively. To be more precise, she prefers the company of_ _ **elven**_ _women. To add to this, she is an aberrant fetishist."_

 _Ryn's brow creases and she lifts a hand, interrupting Josephine. "I do not…I do not know those words, Lady Montilyet. What do you mean?"_

 _Josephine sighs and Ryn's heart sinks, for she knows the ambassador does not enjoy giving voice to indelicate matters. She is a gentlewoman in every sense, and it is yet another facet of her character that fascinates Ryn._

 _"Countess Mignonette enjoys a particular type of bedsport." Josephine explains. "She orders her elven partners to dress as men and, in the privacy of the bedchamber, grants them complete mastership of her body. She allows herself to be tied, blindfolded, stripped, and, if rumors are to be believed, even whipped and humiliated by her partners."_

 _Ryn shakes her head, a little frightened by the thought of what Josephine describes. She fears what the ambassador might say next, for Josephine has not yet asked her favor, and Ryn does not want…she does not wish to bed anyone but the woman standing in front of her. She most_ _ **certainly**_ _does not want to play into a strange fantasy of reverse slavery. However, she waits for Josephine to ask before refusing…she wants to refuse Josephine nothing._

 _"I am not asking you to become intimate with the countess...perish the thought." Josephine clarifies, and Ryn breathes a sigh of relief. "What I am asking is that you tempt her. Flatter her. Make it seem that she_ _ **might**_ _have a chance for a torrid affair with the beautiful Dalish Inquisitor. Countess Mignonette is a lover of bright colors. I do believe the seamstress has made a blue silk tunic for you," Josephine comes closer, close enough that Rynway can smell the lavender and clove perfume that is more intoxicating than any drink. The ambassador's hand reaches out, tracing the delicate, rich blue ink of Ryn's vallaslin. "It shall match these exotic marks of yours quite well."_

 _Those words barely register. Ryn is drunk with the scent of Josephine, flying from a single touch of the woman's soft, elegant fingertips. There is a single phrase repeating in her mind; she can focus on nothing else._

 _ **…the beautiful Dalish Inquisitor…**_

 _"Do…" Ryn stills her tongue. She wants to ask if Josephine truly thinks her beautiful, but does not wish to know if the opposite is truth. She alters her question. "Do you believe the countess will find me to her liking?"_

 _"Oh, yes." Josephine smiles and it is the light of the midday sun. "We shall tie your hair back and dress you as the countess prefers. Also," Josephine walks to her bookshelves and pulls a small volume off of the shelf. The book's cover is tattered and its pages are worn; it is obviously well-loved. "Countess Mignonette is a great lover of Antivan poetry. I should like you to read from this selection and memorize a few choice lines, simply to woo and excite her."_

 _Ryn holds the book and her throat tightens. She does not wish to disappoint Josephine, but this is something that she cannot do. Not because she does not wish to. She knows that the countess is quite wealthy, that she has a retinue of trained knights who would be invaluable to the Inquisition's forces in Orlais._

 _"Josephine, I…" Ryn's face flushes dark with shame. She has not wanted to admit this, but she must. "…I do not know how to read."_

 _The ambassador's eyebrows rise, but it is not in shock. Ryn watches the Lady Montilyet's dark cheeks take on a crimson hue. She is…she is_ _ **ashamed**_ _. "Rynway, I…forgive me, please." she takes the book. "I shall teach you a few lines for this evening, and later, if you so desire, I shall teach you to read."_

 _"Yes." the word falls from Ryn's lips with ease._

 _She is ashamed of her lack of knowledge, yes, but she will take any chance, and lose any amount of sleep, in order to be closer to Josephine. The woman is kind and intelligent and when she looks at Rynway Lavellan, she does not see a Dalish elf from the wilds. She does not see the Inquisitor of the Chantry or the marked Herald of Andraste. She sees Rynway, a woman with mortal emotions and thoughts and questions. Ryn feels that she herself, as she is, has not been seen since the sky ripped apart and she emerged from the chaos with a magic in her hand that she did not understand._

 _"Very well." Josephine smiles, and Ryn's heart swells in her chest, an emotion she never thought she would feel again, a blessing, a reawakening, and a realization._

* * *

Rynway's pacing continued. There were a thousand things that she should do, too much work and not enough time in the day, but she would not move from this place. Unless a dragon descended from the sky, breathing fire upon Skyhold, she would not stir from this hall. There was too much at stake, even though she knew it was not for her to feel this way. It was not for her to stand where she did, pacing, praying to the Creators and, blasphemously, to the Maker. She did not care what deity she prayed to, so long as her prayers were _heard_.

A sick, sinking feeling dwelled in her gut. She felt this before, once, and, before she was thrown into the Fade and marked by strange and foreign magic, she knew it for the worst time in her life. Ryn had no wish to remember those days, those horrific, grueling days. She would rather focus on the better memories, the better times…the things in her life that were bright and beautiful…bright and beautiful and belonging to someone else.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She attempted to shut out all the ambient noise and focus on her memories, the scratching of a fresh quill-pen against parchment and the rich smell of Rivaini ink. Josephine proved to be a more than capable teacher, and Ryn found entire new worlds opening to her as the reading lessons progressed. It grew to the point where she would sometimes pretend to struggle, simply to be with Josephine for a precious hour, listening to the lyrical rise and fall of the Antivan woman's voice.

Ryn loved another…once. She knew what it felt like to her own heart. The exultant rise, rise, rise…the pressure in her belly and her loins that felt as though it would burst outward and create its own breach. A breach that could not be closed save by the touch of Josephine's hand filling the void. This was Rynway Lavellan's knowledge of love. She knew it the moment when her clumsy hands struggled with the quill, being forced to move in a manner that it never had, and Josephine sat beside her, rested her larger hand over Ryn's own, and guided her through the script.

The air changed. Ryn felt it in her bones like an approaching storm. She pushed herself off of the wall and faced the office's entrance. She felt herself die inside as an unholy _shriek_ pierced the thickness of the door, echoing off the stone. Ryn's hand clenched into a fist. She wanted to beat upon the door, but that would do more harm than good. The healers needed to focus. Josephine required the strength that any distraction would drain. The elf's clenched fist, instead of landing on the door, where it would rattle and startle, slammed into the stone of the wall.

The mortar sliced at her knuckles. The rock did not yield. The pain made her aware of herself and visited upon her the horror of that awareness. Ryn's teeth clenched, her blood boiled, and every part of her _lived_ in the echo of that scream, and the nothing she could do. She could not rush to Josephine's side. She could not hold the hands that taught her so much and comforted her so well. She did not have a place at Josephine's side as anything but the Inquisitor to be guided by her ambassador. It was so much, so very, _very_ much, and yet it was not enough.

Leliana's inquiry had branded itself into Rynway's mind.

 _Do you_ _ **know**_ _what an arrow to the belly can to do someone?_

Ryn knew. She knew more than anyone should ever be cursed with knowing. She learned at the same time that she knew what love was. The echo of the scream died at last and Ryn attempted to breathe, but another _shriek_ followed in the thinness of the silence, and the dull ache of her hand was not enough. Ryn slammed her fist into the wall once more and her mind transported her back…back into the forest, into the place that would nevermore be home.

* * *

 _The air swelters. Ryn wipes sweat from her brow and crouches lower behind the bushes, wondering how long this hunt will take. She worries for her clan, for the loss they may have suffered…the reason why the hunters are far now from the aravels. A herd of wild boar were near the camp, and the elves were grateful. Two of the beasts would feed the Lavellan clan for a fortnight. However, that blessing transformed into a curse._

 _Letan, a hunter in training, only in his thirteenth season, had gone out to practice archery. He strayed too close to a sow's young, and was gored. The sow's tusk ripped through Letan's thigh. The Keeper said that, if Letan were to survive, he would no longer have the use of his leg. It would shrivel as he grew into manhood. The hunters were livid. One of their own had been attacked by the forest, with whom they shared a partnership. The boars, once a blessing, would now be hunted in vengeance, every part of them used as payment for the crippling of a Dalish hunter. Nothing would go to waste._

 _Ryn takes a drink from her canteen and squints as the sun blinds her for a moment. She wonders where Laeyel is, and wishes that she had drawn her in the lots for partner, instead of Drevan. Drevan's aim is true, his sight is keen, and he knows the forest. However, Drevan lacks patience, a trait that worries Rynway. She is miserable in the heat, but she knows she would not mind it so much if Laeyel were with her. After all, it was the heat that brought them together._

 _Tracking a majestic stag, sweat pouring off of their bodies, the need for rest and relief. They happened upon a creek and, by tacit, silent agreement, clothing was removed. Naked in the glorious wild, they swam together, letting the current push them closer, closer…closer until their bodies were touching, their skin liquid and melding and hands and lips everywhere. The clan knows, and it matters not. Some Dalish clans have the rite of marriage, but the Lavellan clan holds to older traditions. Traditions where the joy of the body and the joy of the heart can be bound together, or be separate. Should either of them want a child, they might choose a man for a night of intimacy and return to the love of their chosen after, with no recriminations or unnecessary ties. There is a beautiful freedom in her love with Laeyel. Rynway wants nothing else._

 _"Ryn." Drevan's voice calls her mind back to the hunt. "Ryn, do you hear that?"_

 _Ryn attunes her ears to the forest and hears a slight rustling of the leaves and crunching of the twigs on the forest floor. She closes her eyes, reaching out with other senses. The footsteps do not have the weight of a boar upon them. The steps are not those of a boar. If it is an animal, it is a deer, but Rynway does not believe it is an animal. The steps are too measured, too careful. She opens her eyes._

 _Drevan has an arrow nocked, aimed, and before Rynway can stop him he lets the arrow fly. He smiles, expecting to hear the shriek and squeal of his quarry. Instead there is a horrible scream, a crashing of the bushes and the twigs. Ryn sprints towards the sound. Another thrashing of the bushes, a heart-wrenching groan of pain, a few more feet and Ryn is there._

 _Laeyel lies in a clearing, curled into herself, her hands shaking as they reach toward the arrow protruding from her belly. Her hunting leathers are pierced, the arrow's fletching a finger-length from the cuirass. The arrow pierced deep. Laeyel's hand grasps the shaft and blood drains from Ryn's face. She does not remember moving, but suddenly she is there, beside her lover, grasping Laeyel's wrist._

 _"No." she orders. "Do not pull it out. Laeyel, look at me."_

 _Laeyel looks to Ryn, a pain in her gaze that outstrips the physical. The huntress' blue eyes are haunted with shock and betrayal as she looks upon her lover._

 _"Did you…" Laeyel manages to gasp the words, and Ryn shakes her head._

 _"No, emma'lath, no." Ryn squeezes the hand that she holds. "Just lie still. We will…we will get you back to the camp, to the Keeper."_

 _Even as she speaks, Ryn feels as though she is lying. The hunt for the boar has taken the hunters far from their camp. They are more than a day's journey away…more than a day's journey traveled by a swift-footed, healthy hunter. Laeyel cannot risk moving or the arrow inside her will rip her apart. Ryn knows nothing of healing, save what is required for immediate care of injuries. She cannot provide what Laeyel needs._

 _The sound of stumbling footsteps draws Ryn's attention. Draven all but falls into the clearing. He stares at the two of them and he goes pale. Ryn wants to scream at him. She wants to draw the knife at her belt and stab him in the belly. Neither of those things will save Laeyel's life. Neither of those things will help. Her first focus must be Laeyel. She cannot carry the wounded woman's weight back to the camp. Not even with Draven's aid. She will use him, for now._

 _"Help me make a litter." she orders him, striking him across the face when he does not move. "Help. Me." she growls._

 _Ryn keeps a hatchet in her belt for time spent on the long hunts, to cut up kindling, chop vines for snares, and the like. It is helpful now as she cuts two long branches and several thick, ropy vines. From her pack she takes her blanket, piercing holes in the woven cloth and tying it taut across the branches. A few minutes more and she has a harness built so that she can drag Laeyel. It will not be an easy journey, but it will be swifter than any other option…she can barely stand to hear Draven breathing. He should not be breathing with such ease…not while Laeyel is gasping in pain._

 _The litter made, Ryn moves back to her lover, stroking the hair away from the precious features. She struggles to say the words she must say next._

 _"Laeyel, dearest, we have to move you. It will hurt, but it will be brief."_

 _Laeyel nods. Ryn takes her shoulders; Draven her legs. In a synchronized movement, they lift Laeyel onto the litter. A scream shreds the serenity of the forest and Ryn feels tears in her eyes. She sets her lover down, reaches for her hand, and lets Laeyel squeeze it until Ryn is unsure if she will be able to use her hand again. But it does not matter. If it helps her lover endure the pain, she will go through whatever is necessary._

 _"Get back to the hunt, Draven." she hisses at her partner, a man she despises, a man she will_ _ **kill**_ _if he does not soon leave her sight._

 _"Ryn, I want to…"_

 _"You've done **enough!** " she shouts, wincing in hatred as the heat in her voice causes Laeyel to flinch, then groan from the agony of movement. _

_Draven runs into the forest as though for his life. It is for his life. Even now, Ryn considers nocking an arrow and punching it through his leathers and into his flesh. No. Vengeance can wait. The Keeper will make certain that justice is done. Ryn must make certain that Laeyel survives._

 _She kneels down, taking Laeyel's blanket and tucking it around her body, avoiding the arrow. Her lover is paler now than she was mere moments ago. Ryn's heart screams in her chest as she fits the ersatz harness about herself and begins the journey back to the camp. For the first time, she hates the forest. The uneven ground jars the litter…Laeyel moans with the pain of it. That becomes a constant. It does not end.  
_

 _The journey is punctuated with pain. Ryn sacrifices her water, giving all of it to her lover. She stabilizes the arrow as best she can, so that it does not move. She makes certain that Laeyel does not lose too much blood. It is all she can do. She cannot stop what will happen._

 _The fever arrives that night. Laeyel shivers even in the summer heat. Ryn holds her lover as best she can, attempting to keep her warm, wishing that she had_ _ **something**_ _to help Laeyel cope with the pain. There is nothing. Nothing but trudging forward, back to the camp. In spite of her exhaustion, Ryn abandons the idea of sleep. She fits herself into the harness once more, using the stars to guide her back to the camp, to the Keeper, to help._

 _Every hour, Laeyel grows weaker, and Ryn grows more desperate. After two days, they reach the camp. Ryn teeters on the verge of exhausted collapse; Laeyel is lost to the delirium of the fever and the infection…_

* * *

Another slam of her fist into the wall made _that_ hellish memory disappear. Ryn could not stand to think of Josephine enduring that manner of pain. In her mind, she knew that Josephine would not suffer so. The Inquisition's surgeon was highly skilled, and, though she kept it secret, Vivienne was more than proficient in the healing arts. Josephine would not suffer the same fate as Laeyel.

She would not waste away with an infection that could not be rooted out. She would not lose her strength and her mind hour by hour. She would not take hold of Ryn's hand, look into her eyes, and, with last breath, remind Ryn of her love. Josephine would not suffer. She would live. She would live, but even then, she would not love Rynway Lavellan. The ambassador's heart belonged to another.

The door to the hallway opened, revealing the woman that Josephine loved. Leliana closed the door behind her. In her hand she cradled the bloodstained bolt that pierced her lover's body. Ryn waited, almost desperate, wanting to ask but also knowing the pain flooding Leliana's heart and spirit. She knew it with an intimacy that might grant her a sisterhood with her spymaster…the woman she envied above all else.

"Josie will live." Leliana whispered, her eyes fixed to the ugly, bloody bolt. "The arrowhead severed a vein and she bled heavily into her abdomen. The surgeon removed the bolt and Vivienne closed the wound but…but even a mage cannot restore lost blood. Until the body restores the blood she has lost and reabsorbs the blood shed inside her body, Josie will be weak and in pain. I will find someone to take over her duties in the interim…" the spymaster trailed off, a hitch in her voice that granted Ryn yet another kinship borne of understanding.

"Leliana…" Ryn spoke the spymaster's name, a rarity.

She tried to keep Leliana at a distance, an enemy, an obstacle to be overcome. Leliana was none of those things now. She was someone who nearly lost their love, and Ryn would honor that grief. She would step back and love Josephine Montilyet in the sacred silence of her own heart.

Sister Nightingale looked up and Ryn recognized the anguish in the blue eyes that could find all other's secrets. In that moment, Ryn knew that her own secret was such a thing no longer.

"You love Josie." Leliana stated, a simple fact. No anger lay in her tone, no posturing pride, no glare of possession.

Ryn nodded, her throat tight, her eyes full of tears. "Could I but harness the sky, Leliana, I would grant her the heavens."

"I know." Leliana offered a smile, full of commiseration and sorrow. "She sleeps now, but she begged me to allow her to remedy this situation herself. In her own way and in her own time. I wish the opposite, but I will honor her desires. However, my actions have no bearing on yours. What will you do, Rynway Lavellan?"

Ryn considered the question, remembering once again. Draven never returned to the clan. He lost his family, but he kept his life. He suffered nothing but the torment of his own mind for his crime. That was not enough. Ryn had let him go that day. She should not have done that. Forever she regretted that a hasty man lived and a beautiful spirit returned to her Creators.

"I will not make the mistake of my past." Ryn replied, extending her hand.

In silent, complicit understanding, Leliana lay the bloody bolt in Ryn's palm.

* * *

Thick, acrid smoke choked the air. All around rang the symphony of the dead and the dying. Ryn kicked open the door and strode into the opulent room. It lay in the center of the castle, the mansion where men and women alike dedicated themselves to the ungentle art of taking lives. That castle no longer belonged to the assassins. The flag of the Inquisition flew high above it.

A man rose from behind the desk, a piercing white smile gleaming from behind his neatly trimmed, black beard. He glared at Ryn, snorting in disdain at the knife-ear that had raided his sanctum. His monument to death. Ryn flung her broken bow to the ground. Her knife lay in the neck of the door guard. The leader of the House of Repose kept his smile, knowing that, even though all he protected was gone, victory was now his.

He strode forward as one might greet an old friend and extended his hand, ever the gentleman. Ryn kept her face as stone. She offered him her right hand. The man moved; Ryn matched him. She clutched his forearm and pulled with all of her might, using surprise and her shorter height to throw him off balance. His knee struck the floor and Ryn swung her left hand up, clutching a crossbow bolt stained with old blood.

The barb pierced the man just beneath his ear, angled down. Ryn shoved it in up to the fletching, then ripped it out of his neck. Bright, crimson, arterial blood sprayed across her face. He would not live long, but he would know the reason why. Clutching his neck in one hand, Ryn leaned forward. She pressed her lips to his ear and whispered.

"Josephine Montilyet."

The leader of the House of Repose breathed his last. Rynway Lavellan stood in the center of the destruction. She had no regrets. She knew that, when word of this reached Josephine, the ambassador would distance herself from the Inquisitor. It would hurt, but she had no regrets. Josephine would find comfort in Leliana's embrace; her life would no longer be in danger, thus she had no regrets.

Rynway Lavellan would never give herself to another, but watch from afar, protect from afar, and _love_ , with _all_ of her might, from afar.

She had no regrets.


	5. Love Wears Myriad Faces

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hello all, and thank you for all of your support of and prompts for this ongoing series of one-shots. I hope that you are all still enjoying reading these as much as I am enjoying writing them. This Friday's prompt comes from Drummerchick7, who asked for "Kathyra and Leliana's first time. I envision it being so sweet. A gentle seduction from them both." So, without further ado, here's hoping this fic matches the prompt. Thank you all once again for your readership, follows, favorites, and reviews!_

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven_

* * *

 **Love Wears Myriad Faces**

 **Kathyra**

 _She should be back._

I stared at the door of the clinic, willing it to open. It remained closed, reminding me that it was not my place to have these thoughts or to feel this worry. A few months past, I might have agonized over it, berating myself for allowing my mind to venture where it had no right. I did so no longer. It had no purpose in my life, and long ago I learned never to allow an outside circumstances to dictate the woman I was and the woman I would be.

I removed the pot of water from over the fire, lifted it, and poured it over the iron-topped table that I used for invasive work and surgeries. It had taken me two candlemarks to remove all of the blood from my last patient, and now, at last, I could sterilize the surface. I watched steam rising from the table, nodded in satisfaction, and turned my attention to the disrupted order of the shelves. I needed to keep my thoughts focused so that they did not wander and begin imagining things I had no right to imagine.

 _What is taking her so long?_

I set my hands to my task, finding it more and more difficult to concentrate as time passed by. After what felt like an eternity, I heard the creak of the hinges and a familiar, soft footfall upon the wooden floors. My heart leaped in my chest with unreasonable glee and the mantle of worry fell away from my shoulders. I turned towards Leliana and the mantle returned.

She leaned against the closed door and I could hear the harshness of her breath from across the room. Her hair shielded her face but when she looked up my heart began to beat faster. A livid bruise marked her delicate cheekbone and eye, an ugly mess of purple and blue. Her shoulders were knotted, her posture stiff, and she favored her left leg, which was not her normal stance.

"Leliana, what happened?" I asked, walking to her, my worry growing when she lurched away from the door and stumbled into my arms, leaning on me for support. "I thought you were looking for the escaped mages…reconnaissance missions rarely end with injuries."

"You can blame that fatuous windbag known as Petrice." Leliana walked towards one of the tables I used for treating patients and eased herself on to it. "She is attempting to stir up Kirkwall and _force_ a confrontation with the qunari. I got caught in the riot her scheme instigated."

"Are you…"

She shook her head, anticipating my question. "Nothing feels broken." she assured me. "But the bruises are quite painful. I managed to stay on the outskirts of the riot…I am not optimistic for those caught at its center."

 _Why is_ _ **everything**_ _in this blighted city so corrupt? The incessant meddling and conflict provocation extends even to the Chantry? Why did I ever agree to be a part of this…I am a Seeker of Truth and that which I bear witness to in this place turns my stomach._

Leliana shifted and I noted the slight wince and hitched breath, even though no one else would have. The woman I loved was stoic in all things…though never to the place where she closed herself off from emotion. I did not believe I would ever truly comprehend how she maintained such a delicate balance, but I had not lived her life, endured her pain, or learned her wisdom.

I gathered a few salves from the shelves and set them down on the table. I had seen no blood on her clothing, and she would have informed me by this time if she were more gravely injured. I looked up at her and found my breath stolen away. The firelight did not solely illuminate, but became _one_ with the tresses of her hair. Her eyes glimmered and sparked like the rarest stars in the dark of night and I felt molten heat pour through my body at the sight of them.

 _If one were not careful, they could drown in that glorious blue,_ I thought, my mind speaking to me as though I were a stranger to myself. _I have not been careful._

"Where were you struck?" I asked, reaching up and moving her fiery tresses out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. "Besides your cheek?"

I examined the ugly bruise that painted the corner of her right eye and the cheek below it. Judging by the slight swelling of her lower eyelid, I believed it to be a glancing blow that merely looked impressive, a fact for which I was grateful, for it meant there was likely no concussion. A fierce headache, however, would not be out of the question.

"A few carried clubs." Leliana murmured. "I suffered the blow to my face, which knocked me off balance, then I was struck soundly across the back. I fell, took a kick to my left hip before managing to regain my feet and get away from the madness."

I frowned, but not in anger at Leliana. Even the best of bards and the strongest of warriors could not emerge from every skirmish intact. Those who could often fell prey to their pride, perishing far sooner than others who gained much wisdom from their many scars. My expression existed to show my disdain for this city…this place with an infection festering at its core that we were under the Divine's mandate not to heal.

I chafed at that mandate every day, for this city had and continued to wound those I cared for the most…those among the living that I placed first in my heart. I could do nothing but attempt to mend the damage done to them, instead of seeking out the madness in this city that brought such suffering to so many. The wrongness of that bombarded my physician's sensibilities daily. Managing the symptoms was more easily accomplished, but they would forever reappear if the root cause was not sought out and treated.

 _Alas, my hands have been tied by those with much more power than I…and those with a wider view of Thedas as a whole. Still, I will continue to do what I have always done. Care for those that I am able to._

"How is your head?" For some reason, I did not seem able to speak above a whisper.

"Painful, but not unbearable."

"I'll make you something for the pain." I offered. "Will you do me the favor of removing your shirt so that I can assess the strike you took to your back?"

Leliana nodded and I moved away from her, leaving the clinic and moving to the back storage room, where we kept food and where I cured and prepared the herbs that became oils, salves, and poultices. I reached for a bottle of wine, setting it down as my hands began shaking. I gripped the table and closed my eyes, nightmares and images from years gone by assaulting my senses.

 _Cutting metal out of her flesh…stitching the wounds…the weakest, most pained voice I have ever heard begging for sanctuary…Leliana looked into my eyes…she called me "Marjolaine"…and I turned my back on her. Because I was devastated, lost, and afraid. I have never…never seen how time healed the grievous wounds in her body that fueled my nightmares._

My hands trembled as I mixed the sweet wine with powdered willow-bark and elfroot. The sweetness of the wine would mask the bitterness of the herbs, and the wine itself would aid in loosening the bruised muscles. I breathed deep in an attempt to center myself and stop the shaking. I did not fear that the sight of Leliana's scars would remind me of my failures and unsettle my spirit. I had spoken to her of my role in her past…and been forgiven. I feared that, at the sight of her, my heart would swell and burst within my chest.

 _She knows that I love her, and we are both well aware that she…she will not be able to love me. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. I thought my heart dead to love when Giselle was taken from me. I cannot expect nor wish for Leliana's heart to heal sooner than my own, nor can I claim my heart to be_ _ **fully**_ _healed._

I gathered my strength and my composure as I walked back into the clinic. I averted my gaze, struggling to cope with the emotions filling me. The gnawing tension tightening my chest, the lump swelling in my throat, the delight of anticipation…I felt young and foolish again, and youth was a memory not easily grasped, for I had not known it for long.

 _However, Kathyra, you must_ _ **lift**_ _your eyes and_ _ **look**_ _upon her, not as a woman filled with desire, but as a physician._

I raised my eyes and met her gaze, seeing nothing more than the encompassing blue. I pressed the cup I carried into her hand. She nodded her thanks, and a tacit agreement of silence settled between us. I moved around the table as she drank the wine, at last feeling safe enough to raise my eyes to her body.

My breath caught in my lungs as the roaring hearth fire illuminated her back. Her skin held a latticework of scars upon scars. I saw the old, thick, white lines of where the whip had torn into her, the darker, pinkish ripples where molten metal had been poured across her skin. Harsh red lines marked the spaces between her ribs where her torturers laid branding irons against her flesh and bones. I knew in my heart, and in my mind, with all of my knowledge and skill, that Leliana should not have been able to survive the dungeons of Val Royeaux. She had well and truly been marked by the Maker for some higher purpose, otherwise she would have died when my sister betrayed her.

I could see, even across the scars, the dark bruise beginning to take shape beneath the skin. I lifted my hands to the ties of her breastband, my breath shuddering out of my lungs.

"I need to remove this." My voice sounded as if it belonged to another person, rasping, quiet, and unsure.

Once again, Leliana nodded, and her continued silence frightened me. While the two of us did not beleaguer the other with incessant speech, we often shared pleasant conversation with one another. Perhaps she simply remained quiet because of fatigue and pain…though after surviving the horror she had lived through, I wondered if pain bore the same meaning for her as it would for another.

Slow, attempting to breathe evenly, I undid the ties of her breastband, moving them to her side so that she did not lose the garment if she did not wish to. It shocked me when she allowed it to fall to the floor. I wondered if her apathy towards the covering bore meaning or...

 _...focus, Kathyra!_

I placed my hands at the tops of her shoulders and closed my eyes. I had seen the bruise. Now, I needed to focus on touch, to ascertain if bone had been damaged and muscles torn. I pressed lightly across the surface of her back, ignoring the sounds of the wood crackling in the hearth; the occasional hiss or sharp breath from Leliana as I felt beneath her skin for further damage. I reached her lower back, breathing a sigh of relief.

"There is no worse damage here than the bruise." I informed her, and my breath moved the hair at the back of her neck. A shiver rippled down her body, and she gasped. "Forgive me." I apologized for causing her pain...what I assumed was pain.

"No…no need." She spoke, and a shudder spiraled across my shoulders at the sound of her voice.

The few words struck me to my core. They were low, sweet, dark, and melodic. In her tone, I could hear pain, but it did not color her voice in the way that the pain of one's body did. Her voice held the pain of someone whose soul had been bruised, and I feared that something else might have happened…something besides physical pain that might have backspiraled her into the tortures she endured that were worse…worse than the lash.

"Leliana," I removed my hands from her, well acquainted with the fear of touch such an atrocity might elicit, "did something happen…" I steeled myself for the answer, "…did something happen besides the riot?"

 _Was it a riot at all? I am not accustomed to Leliana lying to me, but if any one person in Thedas_ _ **could**_ _, it would be her._

"Yes," she breathed, "but it is not what you are thinking."

 _What in the Maker's name is it, then!?_

"I am…glad of that." My throat felt dry, the words scratched out of it, leaving it feeling cut. "You said…you said your left hip was kicked?"

"I did."

I kept my eyes fixed on the table as I moved around yet again. Her hands were already at the laces of her trousers, undoing them so that I could examine the last of her injuries. If I moved my gaze upwards, I would see her as I had dreamed of seeing her for what felt like the longest time. Breasts bare, elegant collarbones proud on display, the powerful and graceful arch of her neck…that alabaster skin bathed in the wash of warm light from the fire. My hands were shaking again.

Instead, I focused on the part of her body that was safe. The vivid scar on her right side, the memory of a nearly fatal wound immortalized in her flesh as it was in mine. Another reason that she would never love me. I could have prevented what happened to her, severed the head of the viper that poisoned Leliana's heart and soul and life. I could have killed Marjolaine before she betrayed Leliana. But that night, I chose to spare a life and save a life. I spared my little sister. I saved myself.

 _And you, Leliana, suffered for that…though at the time, I knew you as nothing and no one but a bard who was foolish enough to give your heart to my sister. Now, I am pathetic enough to love you, for somehow you endured the hell that she put you through and became more beautiful, fiercer, so much…so much_ _ **stronger**_ _than ever before._

Leliana pulled her trousers away from her hip. I hissed through my teeth. This bruise was already much nastier than the others, almost black at the center and a deep indigo at the edges. It did not surprise me. The leg was capable of exerting much more force than the arms, no matter how fit the individual attacking.

"This explains your limping." I muttered, lighting a candle and holding it closer to her, so that I could further illuminate the damage. "Would you lean back? I need to see if the bone has been damaged, or if this is but another nasty bruise."

Leliana obliged and I swallowed down the lump in my throat. Even though I acted as nothing in this moment but a physician, I could not help but realize that this would be the most intimate place in which I had touched her. In which I would ever touch her. I rested my hand on the skin, wincing at the heat I felt beneath it.

"I apologize in advance." I attempted to prepare her. "This is going to hurt."

"Do what you must." She spoke as a martyr.

I closed my eyes once again and rested my hand over the bruise, pressing down on it, feeling the bone beneath. The bone felt…off…but the damage done to it was not new. What I felt were old breaks, mended oddly because magic had not been available. It sickened me. I knew what had been done to her. To endure _that_ with the hip bone broken in multiple places would have been worse than agony. However, the old damage was all that I could feel.

"Nothing broken, as you thought." I assured her, reaching for a jar of wolfsbane salve in hopes to ease the swelling. I opened it and, moments later, Leliana inhaled sharply.

"That does not smell the same as your bruise salve." She said, the barest hint of concern in her voice. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes." I assured her, keeping my gaze fixed on the bruise, on the task, on what must be done. "I'm using wolfsbane. It is poisonous to the blood but works wonders for swelling. Most often your bruises are accompanied by cuts. Luck traveled with you tonight. It will hurt at first," I warned her. "But, after, you should feel some relief. How is your head, now? Any better?"

"Much." She leaned back further as I applied the salve to the heart of the bruise, rubbing the oils into the skin. A low groan left her lips, but soon her breathing evened. "Thank you."

"You have no need to thank me." I murmured, continuing the motion of my hand, applying more of the salve, even though I had done all that I could.

 _I do not want to leave this place. Her skin is so soft, and my hand feels right upon it. But it is_ _ **not**_ _right. I do not belong here save to tend to her health, to aid her in our mission, and to be a friend to her. No matter what I might feel, it is not my place to take…to take what is not mine._

Deep within my spirit, I heaved a sigh that would never leave my lungs. It would not be right to express my frustrations aloud. I could hold my peace for years if it was asked of me, but I knew all too well that the heart that loved never ceased in the loving. Love was the root of eternity, a silent scream from a single heart into a vast universe of infinite possibilities. I would scream forever, in the quiet of my own heart.

"Are you hungry at all?" I asked. "Or would you prefer to rest?"

"I am hungry, thirsty, and in need of rest." Leliana answered, her tone carrying that dark, intense melody once again. "But I have no need of food, drink, or a place to rest."

After indulging myself for far too long, I pulled my hands away from her skin, almost afraid of the cryptic way in which she spoke. I turned my face from hers, replacing the lid of the salve, fussing over the nothing I had to do, attempting to find a distraction. I loved Leliana Cousland. I wanted to look upon her, touch, and taste…

 _No. Look away. Busy your hands, steady your breath, and prepare for a night of frustration and dreaming._

"Kathyra." Warm, sweet-scented breath rushed over me, pouring down my neck and whispering across my spine. "Kathyra, please, do not turn your gaze from me."

"I must." My heart leapt into my words before I could control it. "I could not bear the pain of it."

"What if I could promise you that there would be no pain?" She asked, her voice still gentle, a calm blanket of night resting over me. "What if I were to tell you that these bruises stamped into my skin struck the depths of my soul and revealed a truth to me that is grievous and fierce and something from which I cannot flee?"

"What truth?" The question shuddered past my lips as I felt her energy, her heat, so near to me that I could breathe her in and taste her.

"The truth of a promise that I made some time ago. To sing again. To dance again. To continue to write poetry and tell the old legends. I felt the blows against my skin this night, the aching of these bruises, and with each pang I knew…I knew that if I did not keep my promises…that I would know nothing in my life but pain. No touch other than an enemy's attack."

I shook my head. "I will not be toyed with, Leliana. I will not be touched for a night and forgotten in the morning. I will not…" I turned towards her at last…

Strong hands braced my cheeks and her lips pressed against mine. Fire poured through my body as I tasted her, sweet and spice, rose petals and nutmeg. My hands reached of their own accord, moving to her waist, pulling her closer. Her hands moved, threading into my hair and gripping tight. The kiss continued, another cry into a long, distant dark. I did not wish to let it end. I parted my lips, opening to her, ready for the knife to pierce me, for her to pull away. Instead, the flavor of her flooded into me, an intoxicating, heady wine that tore a moan from my throat as desperate and pained as that of a prisoner trapped beneath the earth for thirty years when allowed to see the sun again. Leliana broke the kiss and pulled away and all hope that bloomed within me faltered.

"No." she whispered, and my heart began to crack through the center. "You will not be toyed with. You will not be touched for a night and forgotten in the morning. You will be loved, Kathyra." I dared to look into her eyes and saw no deceit within them. Her hand cupped my cheek, her thumb brushing along the bone. "You will be _loved_."

"For how long?" My voice sounded like a plea as I strained to protect myself when all that I wanted to do was shout to high heaven with joy and exultation. "For how long, Leliana?"

"For as long as I can love." She answered and once again, nothing but the clearest honesty shone in her eyes. "Love wears myriad faces, Kathyra, and I have been far too foolish, for I have been keeping myself to a promise of chastity for which I was never asked…"

"It is not foolish to take time to grieve." I breathed, wanting this more than I had desired anything in the longest of times, but unwilling to receive it if she would be wounded.

"It is foolish to let your own grief turn into the image of the dead, an image they did not wear even in death, and let it keep you from living." She countered. "It is foolish to let my own grief turn my eyes and heart from the constant hearth of welcome that is…that is _you_. Always, when I have been standing, bloodied and torn, you and your healing hands have been present, bringing me back from wherever I have gone. You center my mind. You augment my truth. You hold nothing that I have done or anything that I have been against me and that is…that is love, is it not?"

"Yes." I breathed, a weight lifting from my shoulders.

Her words carried the truth of her belief, of her thoughts, of where her mind dwelt in this moment. I did not wear the face of her dead love for her, as she did not wear the countenance of the one I held most precious. We stood in this room with the ghosts of our pasts. Always those two would be there, the strong, shining stars that, someday, at the end of time, would guide us to safe harbor. They lived in our minds and our memories. They spoke to the best parts of us. They were the strength that continued to keep our hearts beating. But in the world of the physical and the tangible, in the world where need clawed at the body and desire played its melody in dreams…we were alone. With each other. With love. Love that wore a new face. A new name. A beginning.

At last, I allowed my eyes to fully open. I gazed upon the woman who offered herself to me and found nothing wanting. I held out my hands to her and she took them, easing herself off of the table. Once more in silence, I led her away, up the stairs, to the private residence above the clinic where I had slept alone for many lonely, longing nights. The sound of her footsteps behind me was soft and quiet, but in my mind it rang as a thrumming tattoo, a beating drum that pounded with the melody in my heart, sending blood coursing through my veins.

We reached the landing and I turned, gazing at Leliana in the blue white glow of the moon from the window. Her eyes glittered in the dark like the lines of an epic tale, drawing me in, making me read, making me _feel_ in a hundred thousand ways I had never felt before. The steps to the dance we knew all too well, but this was no dance we had known before. Her hand remained in mine and I did not pull her forward. I let her step towards me. I wrapped my arm around her waist. I leaned forward and placed my lips against hers in a soft, easy kiss. This was no reckless passionate embrace. This could not be the heady, frantic rush of first true love for we had _known_ that all before. This was calm. This was comfort. This was quiet and silence and tacit understanding. This was who we were.

Her lips were rush and magic against my own, a song whispered from voice to voice, generation to generation. I could have basked in that song for an eternity, but there was more to this tale, to this story, to this music. I would hear every instrument, know every line, memorize every word until I became one with it, until I was musician and symphony both.

Her fingers tugged at the laces of my shirt and I pulled away, removing the garment myself and setting it aside. I allowed my breastband to follow and we stood together in bare feet and trousers alone. A gentle smile crossed her lips and I matched it, met it in another gentle kiss, one like the waves of the ocean, though we were both ocean and shore, crashing with welcome onto the other in perfect synchrony. I kept my touch gentle upon her skin, mindful of her bruises, but I _felt_ everything.

The heat of her body, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as our breasts pressed against one another, skin to skin. I heard the small hitches in her inhales when I touched a place of particular sensitivity, and I knew by the way that she smiled into our kiss that she did the same. And each of us knew that the other gloried in it. Not simply for the sensation of pleasure, but the sheer bliss of _feeling_ again…and of sharing that feeling with another.

"Bed, Kathyra." She whispered, soft against my ear. "Please."

I nodded and we parted, knowing that we would come together again. On either side of the bed we finished disrobing, smiling again at one another in the moonlight before tossing the covers aside and meeting each other in the center of the bed, as we had met in the center of our lives. Once more we embraced, finding comfort in the shared heat between us, not a flashfire of erupting passion, but the knowledge that, on a storm-tossed sea, a haven awaited. A place that was safe.

We did not need to speak. We did not need to seek out each and every part of each other's body with our hands and mouths, for this moment, between two who had lost so much, was feast enough. I could have subsisted on the kisses alone, for they were sweet, warm, bountiful, but I knew that she ached in the same way as I did, as one who had not known a kind touch for too long. By mutual choice we lay down, facing each other on the pillow, still wearing the smile that I knew, from this moment forward, would be stamped upon my very soul.

 _Let me wake to love again_ …the words of my old prayer returned to me in full force and brought tears to my eyes. I let them fall, unashamed. She would not judge me. She would understand. Her hand reached out and rested on my shoulder. Her eyes asked for my acceptance and I nodded. She moved closer to me, her hand moved down the line of my body, resting over the ragged scar that we shared before moving to my hip. Her lips placed a tender kiss upon each of my eyes, taking my tears and sorrow into herself. Her other arm moved, supporting my head; her fingers tangled into my hair and against my brow she breathed the two most beautiful words I had heard in years.

"I know." She promised, and I believed.

Her hand moved lower, between my legs, where I knew I was ready, slick with desire, with an ache, with a wound that I myself would never be able to heal. She waited, and I knew that she waited for my permission.

"Please." I breathed.

Her hand moved with absolute knowledge and absolute peace and I traced reciprocal paths across her body. Felt were the scars, the sorrows, the pains, and the losses. Felt were the long nights of agonized loneliness when, in the Fade, our first truths and first loves returned to us, cruelly torn away by morning. Felt were the moments of insecurity, uncertainty, the hesitant, tremulous steps we had taken to this time and place.

We did not moan and whimper and scream into the night. There were no shouts of release, no frenetically murmured praises or passions. Simple expressions. Simple understandings. Simple beliefs. All of them coalesced within and between us, erupting in a furious moment of locked eyes and entwined bodies. Silent and knowing, our motions stilled. The moon laid both of us bare and we knew the truth of what the both of us had learned long ago.

That, sometimes, the sweetest song was silence. That, in a world where one clawed through and fought and bled and still witnessed the beautiful taken too soon, there could be moments such as this one. Not where truest healing was achieved, but where the ache of an old wound was soothed when the storms came. Where the tears that leapt into our eyes at moments different and unknowable were welcomed and not questioned. This world still held such beauty. That beauty lay before me, stained with sweat and tears and satiation.

Another smile, another promise, and I knew her word was good. Come morning, she would be here, with me. Come morning, we would remember this night in joy and in thanks. Come morning, all would not be well, but it would be different, and it would be _better_ for that difference.

I rolled onto my back and offered out my arm. Leliana moved closer, aligning her body with my own, resting her head on my breast. Before long, her breathing deepened and I knew she slept. I knew that, on this night, for both of us, the nightmares would not come. A peace had been made, an accord sealed with a kiss and a touch and a trust and a knowing…a peace that suffused my heart even now. My eyelids grew heavy.

I turned my head to sleep and looked out of the window to the night sky, where the stars wrote the legends of those they watched through the long, sorrowful years. Two of those stars, nearest the moon, were unnaturally bright. One glimmered, a gentle silver-blue, the other a fierce viridian. I smiled and let my eyes fall closed; let the stars fade away. They were gone from my sight.

But not from the sky.


	6. Silencing the World

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hello all! I know it has been a long time since I've been around, and that_ _This Side of Eternity_ _is still on hiatus. I've been going through some stuff, including some mild depression, and been trying to figure things out. To top that off, my muse seems to have run off for a summer vacation. I haven't forgotten about the story, however, and I do plan to finish it. In fact, my muse actually talked to me today, thus the story you see before you. This Friday's prompt comes from user_ _ **askidf**_ _, who said "_ _If I may...I would love to see you write a pure fluffy (maybe smutty too?) scene featuring Salem, Leliana and Schmooples_." _All I can say is that I tried…I'm not that great at fluff, but hopefully there's some in here. And there is_ _ **definitely**_ _smut. So, without further ado, I hope you all enjoy._

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven Sinead_

* * *

 **Silencing the World**

 **Salem Cousland**

I paused on the threshold, saying nothing, refusing to make my presence known. I knew that life held sacred moments, sights and visions meant to be beheld with awe, rapture, and perfect, still silence. Those moments could never share the same definition in any other life. They were for a singular being alone, and this, for me, was one such moment.

Leliana sat before the fire in the room we shared. She looked better now, after a few days rest and food that was not something that scuttled beneath the earth, where naught but darkness lived. The fight against Branka was hard won, and Leliana paid dearly for the victory. I worried for her during our return. What should have been a trivial wound became infected, and Branka's golems had made quick work of destroying our supplies. She fell gravely ill, and the remnants of her illness still clung to her body; living in her pale, gaunt features, the clothes that hung a little too loosely, and the harsh violet circles beneath her dancing eyes.

They ceased their dance, in the fathomless dark of the Deep Roads. She pulled tight into herself, building a shield wall against the black that swallowed us all whole. I knew why she did, that her worst fears and fiercest nightmares dwelt in the dark and that such a dark, all-consuming in its malice, would take her once again into its embrace…should she let it. I tried to help her fight it, but I did not know, even now, if the meager sword of my listening ears and embrace had been enough to keep her from the prisons still existent within her mind.

 _Am I a terror to her, in those prisons?_ I wondered, watching the firelight play across her hair. _They exist within her mind because she dared to love and that love betrayed her. In the Deep Roads, for the first time, she told me that she loves me and my heart…my heart has never known such joy. But, I wonder, did those words comfort her as they comforted me…or did they entangle her in yet another nightmare? Will the spectre of her darkest dreams forever wear the name Marjolaine, or shall Salem dwell there as well?_

The woman before the fire, the woman who captured and who owned me, body and soul, clapped her hands in delight. From beneath our bed I heard a snuffling noise, and the large, pink, rodent-esque creature she thought so delightful waddled over to her, carrying a small stick in its mouth.

"So smart, Schmooples!" She cooed the ridiculous name she gave the nug, but I found a smile tugging at my lips. "You are a credit to your race."

She pulled the stick from Schoomples' mouth and tossed it to the corner of the room. The nug emitted some odd shriek and charged after it as quickly as his stubby pink legs could take him. I watched, both amazed and amused as Schmooples scooped the stick up in his mouth and brought it back to Leliana, this time dropping it into her lap and looking up at her with wide, dark eyes. She laughed and scratched the nug behind his ears, causing a low sound to trill from the creature's throat, a mixture between the purring of a cat and hooting of an owl.

"You are so very dear!" She exclaimed, praising the nug, a common enough animal in Orzammar…and more like a chicken than a pet. Raised for its nutritional value, not entertainment and not companionship.

Morrigan had sliced at me with her tongue after I bought the nug, chastising me for burdening our company with a useless life. Wondering why I would allow someone to keep a pet. She did not take it kindly when I told her that, were all pets to be cast off, she would surely be back in the Korcari Wilds. Those who gathered around me were at the epicenter of chaos and battle. They risked death almost daily. I did all that I could to ensure that joy was still known to them. For this reason, we were in Orzammar past the time we meant to stay. I wanted us to heal, physically and mentally, and to rest beneath the ground, where, for once, the Grey Wardens were in good standing with the new king.

I continued to watch Leliana play with the nug, smiling when, after a while, Schmooples grew tired of the game and cuddled up in Leliana's lap, beginning to snore with a stentorian volume that reminded me of Alistair.

"It is good to be surrounded again by innocence." Leliana murmured, stroking Schmooples along his back. "Good to see a living creature take delight in the simple art of living. It is an art that so many have forgotten, Schmooples. I am glad that you, and your kind, have not."

"I am glad that you have not, as well." I broke the silence and revealed myself, overjoyed when Leliana did not flinch or start at the sound of my voice. "It is good to see that you still recognize innocence, and take delight in the simple pleasures of life."

She looked at me and smiled with the radiance of the sun, causing my heart to race in my chest like fluttering wingbeats. "It seems you have availed yourself of simple pleasures, as well." She said. "Or have you not been to the hot baths of Orzammar?"

"I am guilty, my lady." I entered the room and closed the door behind me, wincing as I sat, still tender from the bruises and injuries incurred below the earth. "I am afraid the stewards there will kill me. A week's worth of dirt from the Deep Roads will surely taint the waters."

"Not just dirt." Leliana's voice trembled and she reached out, clinging to the sleeve of my shirt, though not touching me. "Blood, too. Yours. Mine." She shuddered. "So much blood."

"Shhhh." I held a single finger to my lips. "Do not frighten poor Schmooples with your maudlin tales."

Leliana stared at me, incredulous. "Hearing you say his name makes it…sound ridiculous." She glared at me. "How can you do that?"

"Because I am horribly serious in every way." I mocked myself.

"Do not ever change that." Leliana smiled at me and I shook within my very core. "You cannot say his name with any grace or lightness, but when you say mine…the earth beneath me shakes."

A shuddering breath flew out of my lungs…but this was dangerous territory to walk. We had been here before, she and I. We spoke of love and we spoke of what we felt for one another, but…but she was not ready. She had offered herself to me before and I did not take it, for I could not hurt her. Not in the way she had been hurt, so many times. But my own heart carried weaknesses and needs and I did not know how many times I could turn her away before I broke and accepted what she offered without…without caring for her spirit.

"Leliana…" I needed to end this before it began, for her sake. For my sake. For the sake of what little innocence she and I still carried within our hearts.

"Salem." Her hand left my shirt and rested on my knee, her eyes locked with mine and held me captive. "There are times…times when we leave sanity, and we can find, in those times, where we are most sane. In the depth of fever, I dreamed of you. I dreamed of you and amidst the fire, amidst the demons, your voice was ever with me and that…that is how I was able to follow it out of the dark. There have been many voices which dwelled inside my mind. The voices of my monsters, my captors, and, of course…Marjolaine. Each and every one of them pulls me into the dark…except for yours. You only draw me ever sunward."

"I want to believe that I know what you are saying." I murmured. "That I understand what you are asking. But I must ask for it in plain language, Leliana, or I might well forego sanity."

"I _want_ you, Salem." Her voice dropped an octave, raking over the syllables like awakening hot coals. I began burning, consumed by a flame I'd squelched too many times, and feared I might have to again.

I gazed deep into her eyes, looking for her soul, her truth. Her eyes danced, shining with light and love and every emotion I desired there to be, but still, in spite of it all, I could see her fear. It flitted behind her joy and contentment, a nebulous black shadow staining everything that might be pure. I caught my heart in a vice grip and bore down on it until I felt physical pain.

"We cannot." I told her. "You are still afraid, dear heart."

"Of _course_ I am afraid." She smiled again, bewildering me. "But my last years have been a life lived in fear and I am _sick_ of it. When I burned with infection in the Deep Roads, I did not fear for my life, Salem. I did not fear what might come after death. I feared…I feared that I would never see you again, never touch you as you deserve to be touched…never love you as you deserve to be loved. I am afraid but I…I will not let that fear touch me. If I allow it to do so, then you shall _never_ touch me and that…that is all that I desire."

No matter the grip I held it in, my heart would not be contained. It swelled and burned beyond my control, shaking off its shackles and casting me aside. I let her words be a siren's song. I moved before I could dissuade myself, tangling my hand in her hair, pulling her towards me and kissing her. Passion roiled over me like waves in a storm, blistering me with chill and fire until I shivered and seared. Her lips tasted of honey, tinged with saffron, exotic and wholesome and pure and _good_.

I did not know if I was gentle, so lost in her taste and the texture of her lips against mine, reciprocating my kiss with an abandon she'd not yet shown. A soft moan vibrated across my lips and I groaned as her tongue swept out and tasted mine, beginning a delicate dance. I pulled myself closer to her, basking in her energy and aura, dissolving into a perfect, pristine…

A harsh squeal snapped the tension and sharp teeth dug into my arm, ripping through my shirt and skin, drawing blood.

"Schmooples!" Leliana exclaimed, pulling the nug off of me and setting him down. Her eyes were irritated and aggrieved. "Naughty boy! Why did you do that!?"

"Because perhaps he is smarter in this moment than either of us." I said, my tone and mood darkening.

Leliana's eyes flashed, blue lightning. "Do not _dare_ darken this moment, Salem." She ordered me. "He only bit you because you were crushing him in your ardor."

I looked down at my bleeding arm. "A good reminder." I murmured.

 _I will only hurt her. I surely cannot be all that she needs, or wants, or desires. I am here, and trying to be kind, and if she is reaching out in desperation…_

"Good boy." Leliana spoke to Schmooples as he waddled underneath the bed and curled into himself, beginning to shore again, softly this time. "Let me look at that bite."

With tender hands, she rolled up the sleeve of my shirt, hissing in sympathy at the smallest wound I have endured on this journey. The bleeding had already slowed to a crawl. Leliana rose and walked to the table, grabbing a cloth and the bottle of wine King Bhelen had sent to me at the inn. She soaked the cloth in wine and sat down beside me, cleaning the wound. The obvious care in her touch sent shockwaves trilling up and down my spine.

"You poor thing." Leliana murmured, soft. "Always bleeding."

"Always for a good reason, I should hope." I whispered, knowing that it hurts her to see me injured, even in the smallest of ways.

"Well, you do necessitate a constant supply of bandages." Leliana smiled, reaching into her pack and pulling out a roll of linen bandaging. She wrapped the tiny wound and tied it off before looking into my eyes. Her gaze did not move away and the fire burning in the pit of my stomach roared back into full force. "And you always shed blood for…for the noblest of reasons." Her words drifted to my ears. "You are a truly _good_ woman, Salem. I have never met another like you."

"You have traveled the world and seen all that it has to offer." I told her, disbelieving her words. "Surely you have met many women like me…ignorant fools, educated at home, who have never been beyond the borders of their own country."

Leliana glared at me. "Never say anything to me like that again." She warned. "I have seen a great deal of blood shed, Salem. I have seen it shed for gold, for lust, for petty grievances…even for enjoyment and sadism. Never before have I seen blood shed for love, and love alone. Love of country, love of family, love of…"

"You." I pulled her closer to me, drowning in the ocean blue of her eyes. "You have shed blood for love, Leliana."

"At first, yes." She agreed. "But not…not later." Nightmares entered her eyes again. "I had no love left after the second day. Not until…not until now. I…" Her voice trembled and a shaking hand rested over my heart, the heat of it scalding me. "…I _love_ you, as I have never known it was possible to love."

Leliana called me eloquent, but I did not have the words to answer her. Instead, I leaned forward and captured her lips in another kiss. I stilled myself this time, forcing myself to be gentle, careful, to love her as she deserved to be loved. Her taste, her touch, the feel and scent of her intoxicated me more than any amount of alcohol ever could. She wasted no time, reaching up and pulling my shirt off, baring my body to the chill air. I turned my back to the fire, wincing a little, hiding it with another passionate kiss.

I felt struck by lightning everywhere her hands touched me and my body ached in a way that tore me apart. I needed her, more than I needed air, more than I needed water, more than I needed the blood in my veins. I could not stop kissing her, could not stop the pounding of my heart in my chest. I _craved_ her. Her touch, her taste, her warm skin beneath mine.

Her hands reached for the laces of my trousers just as I grasped the hem of her shirt. Her entire body froze and I saw the tension in her muscles, like that of an animal aware of a predator, preparing to flee. I breathed deep, lifted my hand, cupped her cheek, and turned her eyes to mine.

"You do not have to." I told her. "If you need a shield, I will not undress you. I will take you down no road where you do not wish to venture."

I saw tears in her eyes and I trembled. I relinquished her shirt, placing my hands at my sides, giving her the choice, and the freedom to walk away. Her own hands replaced mine and she removed the garment, baring herself to me, revealing the most horrific of her scars. I wished, at that moment, that she could hear my thoughts. I had never seen a body more beautiful, more pure, more worth cherishing and loving. She had known so much pain, perhaps only pain, and was offering herself, not just her body, but her heart and soul as well, and _trusting_ me to take them. I would not fail her. I could not.

However, her eyes darted away. She lowered her head, her fiery hair shielding her expression. Her hands tugged at the laces of my trousers again and the loose linen fell away from my body. I reached out and touched her shoulder, attempting to draw her up, towards me, but she went to her knees. My mind went white as she pressed kisses to my inner thighs, tracing a path higher and higher until her mouth closed over my sex in a searing kiss. I cried out…

* * *

 **Leliana**

"Leliana!" Salem screamed my name, exactly as I had intended. Surely she would accept this, for it was all I knew. She was so forgiving, so understanding. I could offer her my complete and utter submission, humble myself before her and become a slave to her pleasure and her bliss…she would cherish me, need me and crave me and offer me fulfillment and sense of purpose in the meeting of her needs.

 _Maker_ , she tasted so sweet and her need was so great. She was wet and open, waiting, pleading with her body for what her reserve might never let her give voice to. I traced a path across her folds with my tongue, rewarded by another ragged cry of my name. If I knew one thing, I knew this. I knew how to serve. She was kind, so very kind. I knew that my needs would be met, if I pleasured her well, if I gave her all that she needed, exactly as she needed…

"Leliana!" A harsh edge rang in her voice and I realized it was not passion I heard in her tone, but something…something quite near anger. She panted above me, her body wire tight. Her hand rested on my head, but she made no move to direct me. Instead, she gently guided my head back, to look at her, to see the fires kindled in her silver-blue eyes. "Leliana…" She rasped. "Please… _stop_."

I shrank into myself, deflated and afraid. I had done something wrong. Kindness only extended so far, and often those who were spent their kindness on others were cruel in the private chamber. I drew my shoulders in close, making myself small, lowering my head in order to protect it. She'd told me to stop, and I had. I did as she said. She wouldn't...she…I began shaking, afraid that my beautiful illusion, like all of my other beliefs of love, was soon to shatter.

I felt warmth, a conflagration, envelop me. I dared to lift my head to see Salem, on her knees with me, beside me, confusion swirling in her beautiful eyes. She reached out and I flinched. Her hand stopped…paused…and fell away. I was terrified, and ashamed of my terror. I should be better than this. I _loved_ her, I truly did, but what if I was not good enough…what would she do to me then?

"What are you doing, dear heart?" She asked, the question so innocent and so _stupid_ I almost laughed.

"I am…I am pleasing you." I stammered, my cheeks flushing with heat as my failure washed over me again. My failure and my fear of what it would mean.

"No." She shook her head. "You're fucking me."

I did laugh then, in shock and bewilderment. "Is it not the same thing?" I asked. "Does not one lead to the other."

"Perhaps." She smiled, calm and radiant, and _kind_. "In the future. But not tonight, dear heart. You told me you were afraid, and I _understand_ that fear. But I…I want this to be different for you. The woman on her knees just now, she was _not_ my Leliana. I need _my_ Leliana." Her voice, saying my name, was the sweetest melody, for every syllable was stained with the purity and power of her love. She reached out and this time I did not recoil. She framed my face with her hands and placed a chaste kiss on my lips. "I promise not to hurt you." She whispered. "Do you believe me?"

If any other had asked me that question, I would have spat in their faces and laughed. But not Salem. Salem, whom I witnessed taking swords and arrows for all of us. Salem, who spilled her blood for love, who gave her last piece of gold to a starving family, and her last meal to her mabari. Salem, who did not take me when I offered her my body, but held me and kept me safe, showing me for the first time what it was to be _cherished_.

She did not call me the names lovers often ascribed to one another. I was not her _pet_ , her _sweet_ , her _pretty thing._ She called me…she called me _dear_ _heart_. The part of me that no one had ever wanted, ever cared for, was what she held most precious in her sight. I could trust her. I could…

"I believe you." I whispered and I know that she heard it in the way I spoke it, as both a promise…and a prayer.

With strong arms, she lifted me, carrying me to the bed and easing me down onto the covers. The fire flickered in the hearth, highlighting the scars she had accumulated through the journey here. I reached up, touching the ragged, puckered scars from the three arrows that pierced her at the Tower of Ishal. Perhaps this was why she could look at me without pity…her own body bore the marks of great suffering.

"You are perfect." She whispered, and I took heart. She had told me I was beautiful, told me I was all that she desired, but now, facing me in this way, with both of our hearts united in _one_ desire, she said to me the words I needed to hear. That I, scarred and torn and mangled as I was, was perfect in her eyes. Eyes which held no pity, only want. Only desire.

She lay down alongside me, her hand roving over the planes of my body. All of my scars shrieked, but not in the pain I knew from the touches of others. Instead, her tough wrought pleasure, the sensitive skin thrumming with its own cry to heaven. My body caught fire as she lowered her mouth to my skin. Her lips pressed over each and every scar, every divine flaw. Between kisses she spoke to me of her love, of her desire, of her need.

My body began trembling, this time not from fear, but from need. Her soft kisses whispered over the cruel hashmarks cut into my collarbones, one inflicted for every day I survived torture. My skin _sang_ and I felt myself grow damp with _need_. My breath refused to stabilize, coming in ragged pants, barely filling my lungs before she stole it away. Her touch was gentle, measured, precious…she cared for me with painstaking grace, as the mothers and sisters of the Chantry prepared and enacted the rituals for Andraste…oh Maker above.

Salem was _worshiping_ me. With her kisses, her whispers, her hands, and her heart. She paid homage to my body…her shrine. I truly was…I truly was perfect…in _her_ sight. Her love of me made it so.

I cried out as her lips at last closed over my breast. Her teeth grazed my nipple and my back arched, pressing myself into her lips and her hands as they traced careful lines of fire and lightning across my other breast and my side. My core pulsed and my hips bucked, seeking pressure, seeking friction, seeking divine release. Salem seemed content to feast at my breast, but I needed her elsewhere. I needed her at the heart of me, where she belonged, where I _wanted_ her to be.

Her lips left my nipple and covered its twin, subjecting me to another bout of intoxicating bliss. I moaned beneath her assault, whimpering and begging, pleading with her to sate my needs, realizing after a moment that she could not understand, for I was praying to her in Orlesian. Her teeth gently massaged my nipple and I almost came undone, but I could not, not yet.

"Salem." I begged her. Her lips abandoned my breast, but she did not stop kissing me, feeling me, touching me. "Salem, please." I whispered, knowing she would understand.

She rested alongside me once again, holding me close, kissing my lips, tasting the sheen of sweat on my body. Her hands untangled the laces of my trousers and loosened them, pulling them off of my hips. Her fingertips brushed the inside of my thigh and I pitched forward in her arms, wrapping my arms around her shoulders, shuddering and clinging to her. Her fingers trailed through my folds, seeking my entrance, and I stiffened, not wanting to be drawn back into hell, but remembering, unable to stop…

"Leliana." Salem's voice brought me out of the dark. "This is not what you want?"

 _Maker, I love her. She is…she is perfect._

"I cannot…not yet." I breathed. I wanted her inside me, to fill me, to be joined with me, but what my body desired my mind could not bear. Not yet…perhaps, someday.

"As you say." She murmured.

She left my side and I almost screamed, for I was desperate, and I wanted her. She did not leave, however. She drew me to the edge of the bed, until my feet rested on the floor. She went to her knees before me, her eyes fixed upon mine, filled with love, admiration, desire, happiness, contentment, and joy.

"I love you, Leliana." She whispered. "Thank you." Her words stunned me into silence. "Thank you for letting me love you."

Gentle, her hands parted my thighs and her head lowered between them. I groaned as her tongue slipped through the folds of my sex, tasting me, exploring everywhere. I clenched my fists in her hair, every breath a moan as my body tightened, not with fear, but in preparation. She took her time, savoring me as she would a fine meal. My hips began to move against her, seeking pressure, reciprocation, _anything_. I bit my lip as every stroke of her talented tongue, every press of her gentle lips brought me nearer the edge.

Then, she stilled. I whimpered, my every muscle shaking, my body coiled so badly it _hurt_. It was but a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Then, warm heat swallowed me whole, her mouth took my over-sensitive bundle of nerves. Her tongue traced the base, her teeth grazed the top, applying just enough pressure…

I shattered in her arms, a wail shredding out of my lungs as my body knew true release for the first time in _years_. I spasmed as if locked in a seizure and her tongue remained there, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until I collapsed on the bed, shaking and spent and terrified and _happy_. I was so happy I could not contain it and tears spilled from my eyes, coursing down my cheeks like a river torrent, washing me clean of the last of Val Royeaux's poison.

"Dear heart?" Salem's voice still held reverence; her hand whispered through my hair. "Are you all right? Did I…" I detected the edge of fear in her tone, "…did I hurt you?"

"No." I launched myself upwards, into her arms, clinging to her body, feeling the hardness of her defined muscles juxtaposed against the softness of her skin. "No, Salem. You did not and you would not and for…for the first time, I can truly believe that. What you did, how that felt…"

"I wanted to make love to you." Salem whispered. "Did you feel loved?"

 _No. I felt…Revered. Cherished. Worshiped. Flawless. Immaculate. Pure. Innocent. Joyful. Happy. Forgiven._

"Yes." I nodded, laughing as more tears flew down my cheeks. "Yes."

"Good." She wrapped her arms around me and I knew that, if I wished to, she would leave this night at that. My pleasure, and her need. She would not ask it of me, because her definition of love was so _selfless_ , so _sacrificial_ that at times it drove me mad.

I drew her angular, beautiful face down to mine and kissed her with all the passion I felt and what more I could muster. Our tongues danced and parried, her moans drove me wild. My hands went to her small, high breasts, tracing over the pebbled flesh of her hardened nipples. She gasped into our kiss, deepening it, begging in a silent way for my attention. I ran one hand down the center of her chest, to the dampened curls of her sex, and cupped her. She rose to her knees on the bed, refusing to leave my lips, bucking her hips into the gentle pressure of my hand, craving and needy and undone in a way I had never seen her.

I ran my fingers across her skin and found her entrance, asking permission with a pause. She groaned, breaking the kiss and resting her head against my shoulder.

"Yes." She rasped, her voice hoarse and quavering. "Maker, yes."

I slipped inside her, and found my paradise. My home. My resting place. She cried out and her teeth caught in my skin. Slow, at first, I moved my fingers within her, brushing my thumb over the stiffened apex of her sex. One of her arms rested on the bed, supporting her, and the other wrapped around me, pulling me closer, urging me onward and forward. I began moving faster within her until her body stiffened and her cries stopped so that she could focus all that she had left on breathing.

I wanted to be slow, careful, and passionate as she had been with me, but I could not. My heart pounded lava through my body and I needed to see her break free. I needed to see her body at last given the rest that she deserved and never took, the peace she gave to all others. I needed…I curled my fingers upwards inside her and stroked the precious bundle of nerves at her center until her teeth broke free of my shoulder and her head snapped back, her lips parted in a _scream_ more powerful than the roar of a lion.

Her walls fluttered around my fingers, powerful, strong spasms of desperate release. Her passion poured into my hand as I drew out her pleasure as she had done for me and I basked in the beauty of this moment. Sweat poured down her face and her hair was a tangled mess around her shoulders. She collapsed backwards onto the bed and pulled me over her, hugging me tight, kissing my shoulder, my neck, wherever her lips would reach.

"I love you." She whispered the words. "I love you, Leliana."

"I love you too, Salem Cousland." I whispered in her ear, wondering how…wondering why… "How, Salem?" I asked the question that would torment me forever, should it receive no answer. "With all of the voices crying out for you, with all that you bear and all that you do, how can you hear my voice with my small needs and miniscule desires amid the clamor of the world?"

"Because I love you." She whispered. "Because love merits silencing the world."

I said nothing after that, feeling that, if I did, I would somehow ruin the sacredness of her words. Salem fell asleep in my arms, her soft snores echoing those of Schmooples, who still slept beneath the bed. My heart was light for the first time in years and I felt songs writing themselves in my mind and music taking root in my heart, though I'd ignored the bardic arts completely in Lothering. I was not healed, not yet, perhaps not ever, but I _was_ healing.

I felt unassailable, invincible, and treasured. I felt safe. Beside me lay a woman who, in spite of her disbelief, _was_ unlike any other in the world. No one else could be so kind, so strong, so relentless in her gentility and so fierce in her tenderness. No one else could…Salem rolled over and I gasped. The sheets beneath her were streaked with blood from the wound to her back, where Branka had flayed her with a golem's control rod. I knew that Salem healed slowly, because she could endure only small amounts of healing magic, but after the few days back in Orzammar, I thought the wound healed, and I had not noticed earlier because I had been very _wonderfully_ distracted but…

 _Oh, my Salem._ Tears filled my eyes once again and slipped down my cheeks, tinging my lips with the taste of salt. _No one else could do as you do, and bleed so much for love._


End file.
